Out of The Dark
by Santiaga
Summary: A hostage's death brings up painful memories from Ed's past, leading to the chain of tragic events. Teamfic, centered on Greg and Ed. Lots of Wordy, Sam, Spike. One small OC.
1. Flash Forward

_Out of The Dark_

_**Charli911**__, thank you so much for your great help with my previous story. This story is my thanks to you!_

_And many, many, many thanks to __**Mahala**__ for beta'ing of this story!_

**Summary**: A hostage's death brings up painful memories from Ed's past.

I've always wondered why, throughout all five seasons, any hot calls involving children or teenagers were obviously so much harder for Ed. This story takes place a couple of months after "The Element of Surprise" but I've put this episode in the 2nd season.

**Disclaimer**: I own neither Flashpoint, not the characters involved. I make no money from this works, they are for entertainment only.

**Genre:**

1-9 chapters: lots of Angst! Hurt /Comfort, Drama.

10-18 chapters: Action, Hurt /Comfort, Friendship

17-21 chapters: involves one little OC.

**Spoilers:** "Scorpio", "Haunting the Barn", "The Element of Surprise"

**Warning**: English is not my native language! Sorry for the mistakes and for my limited vocabulary. I try my best...

I am immensely grateful to all of you who read my fics. I guess that it is terribly difficult to read the texts that are written by a non-native writer. Many thanks for your patience, your feedback, and your support.

...

**Chapter 1**

_Flash Forward_

He rose heavily from the ground, coughing and spitting out the dust that coated his teeth.

A vast cloud of dust slowly settled around him, revealing a view of the square that was covered with broken glass, fragments of concrete and bricks. Abandoned dirty gray cars. Dust-covered uniformed men, police and firefighters, picking their way through the devastation**…**

A strange buzzing noise and numbness filled his head, like a soft pillow isolating him from the outside world. Focusing hard, he could just make out the warble-wail of police cars and fire-trucks. The sound was distant and weak, as if he were under water. He shook his head and ran his hand over his face. Then slowly, almost mechanically he began to shake the gray dust from his uniform.

One of the firefighters suddenly appeared in front of him. Taking him by shoulders, the man began to say something to him, gently shaking him. He could see man's lips moving. He could see the anxiety and compassion in his eyes but the man's words mingled with the noise in his own head, making him unable to comprehend them.

He nodded wearily and the firefighter, for some reason, gave him a quick hug and stepped aside.

He continued to stand there, blinking slowly. Maybe he'd been temporarily deafened, he thought to himself with some indifference. Suddenly, he became concerned about the rest of the team. He looked around and frowned, puzzled.

He watched as Wordy put his arms around Jules, stroking her hair, apparently soothing her. It seemed to him that he could hear the sound of her sobs. _Why is she crying? __Is__ she hurt?_ He anxiously looked closer at her and was glad not to see any obvious injuries.

Wordy turned his head toward him and now he could see his friend's face. His cheeks were wet. _Tears? _His confusion increased.

He noticed that Wordy was looking intently at him and he turned away, for some reason unable to endure this long, suffering, persistent gaze.

He saw Lou was saying something to Spike, whose face and hair were still covered with gray dust. Dark eyes, almost black now, swam in the man's face making it look like a creepy mask. Lou grabbed Spike's shoulders, shaking hard, but there was no reaction from him. _Spike... There was something important that Spike had said just before... before... _A sudden chill ran up his spin and his heart froze within him. _No._

He shut his eyes and shook his head angrily.

Opening his eyes, he found Sam standing in front of him. Even through the mud on Sam's face he could see an expression of dull grief.

He pushed this thought aside.

"Boss?" Sam called him and Sergeant Greg Parker suddenly heard him clearly. At last! He grinned with relief, glad that his hearing was back.

Sam frowned and broke off, noticeably strained at the sight of Greg's smile.

"Yes, Sam?" The Sergeant looked at the young man calmly, expecting him to continue talking. "What were you going to say?"

"Boss, Agent Williams has been informed, CSIS took those bastards. The Bomb Squad from Moss Park Forces Base have arrived... We... We can go back to the Barn..." Sam's voice was low and hoarse.

"Go back?" Greg asked with surprise, raising his eyebrows. "But we can't go back Sam, not without Ed," he said evenly, looking at the young man with a soft reproachful smile, unpleasantly surprised that he should have to explain something so obvious.

Sam stared intently into Greg's face. "Sarge, are you okay?" He sounded worried.

"I'm okay," Greg replied automatically, noting irritably that the strange noises in his head and the numbness had returned. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head again.

"Boss, let's get you to the SUV," Sam took Greg's shoulder and start to pull him towards SRU cars.

Greg did not move. "Sam, I told you we can't leave yet. Not without Ed. He's still in the building." He heard his own voice which sounded overly loud and uncharacteristically sharp now, almost as if he was... _scared_?!

Suddenly, Spike clenched his hair in his fists and let out a sound between a growl and a sob. All team members turned to him. Raising his head, Spike glared at Greg, raw pain in his eyes.

"What building, Boss?! Look at it!" He pointed at something behind Greg, "There is no more building!" he almost shouted.

Greg refused to look back. "No, no, Spike, you're wrong. It's all right, it's all right..." He swallowed hard. "You don't understand... Ed's in there. Anyone talked to him?" He grabbed his headset. "Ed? Eddie? Come on, buddy, talk to me!"

He waited, barely breathing. No answer. His throat tightened.

"Sarge, we've called him... But there's nothing," he heard Wordy say in a low voice.

"Silence!" Greg cut him off, desperately listening. There was nothing but static. "Keep calling him! Maybe his radio was damaged?" Frantically, he fumbled for the cell phone in his pocket, becoming aware of his trembling hands.

"Boss, cellular communications in this area is still locked," Sam said gloomily.

"So make them unlock it! I need to communicate with Ed!" Greg shouted and gazed at Spike who was usually responsible for the communication between team members. "Spike, I have to talk to him, now! Do you hear me? Now!" he croaked. Not only his hands were trembling now but he felt all his body shivering.

Spike stiffened. "Talk to him? Now? You're too late, Boss! It's too late to talk now!" he cried out with redoubled fury, "Look behind you! Ed was under the epicenter! He's buried under tons of wreckage! It's over! He's gone! Don't you understand? He's gone!" His voice cracked.

Jules stepped closer to him and tried to hug him, but Spike pulled away from her embrace.

"You shouldn't have let him go in, not in the mental state he was in !" Spike continued to glare at Greg. "He was ... I warned you! You promised you'd help him. You promised that you'd settle all the problems, that you would keep your eye on him! But you didn't!" He pointed at Greg accusingly. "You didn't do anything! Just talk!Conversations! You were just chatting, but you had to act! And now it's too late." He didn't take his eyes from the sergeant, who stood dumbfounded before him. "Why did you let him go in?" Spike took a step towards Greg, but Lou stopped him, standing in his way.

"Don't. Not now, Spike. That's enough. Come on!" Lou tried to pull his friend away.

"Why didn't you let me defuse the second bomb, Boss? Why?" Spike shouted, still struggling to get past Lou. "I could have done it! I had the time!" Tears began ran down his face, creating black tracks through the mask of gray dust, "I could have done it," he repeated more quietly as he lowered his head.

Lou hugged Spike's shoulders, silently.

Greg stood motionless. _It's not real. It just can't be real._

"No, no," he muttered. "You... You don't understand, Spike. Ed's alive. He's fine," He ran his trembling hands over his face, smearing the dust.

Someone called his name and Greg slowly turned around. "Sergeant Parker! Officer! This man is asking to speak with you. He says that it is very important!"

They saw a gray-haired man in the overalls of the electricity company walking towards them accompanied by a one of UNI's. Beside the man was a youth in the same overalls, staring in astonishment at the chaos around them.

The men approached.

"Sergeant, this is Stan, my son." The pale man hugged the young man's shoulders, pulling him close. "He came out of the building a minute before the evacuation began. There was so much chaos..." He faltered, looking around the silent SRU officers in front of him. "Mobile communication has been disabled, I couldn't contact him. I didn't know... I think he was still inside, in that basement. Your man... They told me that he stayed in there to find Stan. God, I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry... " he said hoarsely, abruptly, his eyes filling with tears.

Greg nodded, unable to utter a word.

The man left, still hugging the youth.

Finally, Greg forced himself to turn and look at the building that had been devastated by the blast. He stared in horror at the monstrous jumble of wreckage that now filled the place where the right wing of the building had stood before. The only recognizable structure were the now glassless windows in the only remaining standing wall surrounded by twisted iron fittings and steel beams. A few wisps of black smoke hung over the ruins, white streams of water gushed from a fire hydrants.

Suddenly the memory of the last thing that came from Ed on the radio hit him. That one brief terrible scream...

He panted and started blindly toward the ruins that buried his friend. Someone's hands stopped him.

He didn't expect to almost fall as the awful realization of what had happened hit his consciousness. He didn't expect his legs to tremble and almost buckle under him as he was forced to finally acknowledge the inevitable. Nor did Greg expect the yell.

The pain-filled, impossibly loud, "this-can't-be-happening" yell of, "NO!"

He also didn't expect it to come from him.

He bit his lips to hold in the new cry that wanted to come out and for a while he remained standing, swaying, clutching his head in both hands, his eyes fixed on ruins.

"Please, God," he groaned, "Please, no..."

tbc


	2. If I'd known that things were so bad!

**Chapter 2 **

**"Sophie, if I'd known that things were so bad..."**

2 weeks previously

"Didn't he tell you?" Sophie shot him a surprised look. Not waiting for an answer, she let out a bitter laugh. "So like him."

She turned away from the man that was standing in her living room, grabbed her purse and paused for a moment, checking its contents.

"How…how long ago?" Greg finally managed to utter. He stared at his friend's wife in astonishment. _Was it some sort of prank? Episode for Candid Camera Show? _

"Over a month." She looked at him sympathetically. "Why didn't you call before coming? I could have told you that he doesn't live here anymore... "

_I'm in__the Twilight Zone. That's the only explanation. Because in reality Sophie Lane just can't be telling me so calmly that Ed Lane left his family more than a month ago. Ed Lane had __walked out__. __One of the most immutable constants in this universe destroyed.__No, it's just impossible. _

With immense difficulty Greg forced himself to overcome the shock of what he had just heard. Though... _Was it such a big shock? Honestly, Greg? Didn't you expect to hear something like that?_

He remembered why he came here.

…

It was obvious that over the last few months something had been very wrong with the world of Ed Lane. And today Greg was intending to find out the cause, whether Ed wanted him to or not.

Ed Lane appeared exactly the same, their consummate team leader. No worries on that score. He was still the same highly trained, competent officer and dedicated as ever; the same capable, clever and astute tactician, not above taking calculated risks when the situation called for it, always inspiring unshakable trust and confidence in his teammates. Yes, Constable Lane was still the same perfect officer.

But Greg missed Eddie.

For some reason, his famous Lane charm, good humor and friendliness were noticeably absent. Greg noticed that Ed was less and less time just chatting with Wordy or telling jokes to Jules to make her smile, or snarking with Spike about some guy stuff, less and less time doing all those … _normal _… Ed Lane moments. Even when those rare moments did show themselves they weren't normal. It was obvious to Greg that Ed was simply playing a part.

Lately, obviously tired of pretending, Ed had even begun to give up on these feeble attempts portray himself as normal. It seemed that with each passing day he became more and more withdrawn and uncommunicative. Pensive, silent, he seemed wrapped in a cocoon, not allowing anyone to himself and distancing himself from everyone.

The situation had left Greg and the team totally baffled. They all had tried to draw out the other Ed Lane, the one with the snarky remarks, the one with the snide one-liners, but that Ed stayed hidden. They had tried everything they could think of to break through - dropped in on the man unexpectedly, invited him in, invited him out but whatever they tried was greeted with a polite refusal. Eventually, after a few weeks even Wordy had given up.

After all, sometimes there is a rough patch in everyone's life. Some people talk about it willingly. Others not so much so.

Ed Lane? Oh, he was definitely not the sharing type. Knowing his team leader as a strong, but very private person, they gave him space to deal with his own problems the way he was used to. They stopped pushing him. They stopped pestering him with questions.

So they just waited.

But Ed's mood was not the only problem. Group training sessions conducted by Ed, were always pretty intensive but now every workout seemed more like a fight for survival. No one openly complained. Yet at some point, Greg was forced to pull rank and as commander of the group asked Ed to slow down and not to lead everyone and himself to exhaustion.

Ed obeyed without a word. Actually, he was often silent now…

Not that Greg hadn't tried to breach those walls but Ed being Ed, like the good tactician he was, he had raised walls and created a second line of defense, his intractability. Ed Lane had closed in on himself like the proverbial clam.

Things couldn't go on like this, Greg had finally decided which left him one last option of going to Ed's home to try to talk to him there. During their long years of friendship and working together there were hundreds of such meetings and conversations in the living room or on the patio porch of the Lane's house. It always worked.

But not at this time.

…

"You two ... you've split up?" he asked Sophie dumbfounded.

She looked at him with tired eyes for several long seconds then looked away.

"Yes, Greg, we've broke up. And I'm not going to discuss it with you. Talk to Ed. Let him tell you. You're friends with him, after all," she laughed bitterly, "I'm sorry, I'm really in a hurry... " She glanced at her watch.

Her cell rang at that moment. "Michael! I'm on my way! Yeah... I'll be there in 20 minutes, top!" she replied with a broad smile.

After the short conversation, she threw the phone in her purse, grabbed her keys and went to the front door, glancing impatiently at Greg, making it clear that the visit was over, as was the conversation.

Greg made to leave in silence. Of course, he noticed Sophie's excitement, noticed how she repeatedly looked at her reflection in the mirror, how carefully she corrected her hair. Michael. These little things caused a niggling suspicion to creep into the back of his 's closed gloomy behavior and his fierce refusal to discuss anything, suddenly gave Greg a logical and reasonable but disappointing explanation.

"Soph? May I ask you a question?" he said softly, standing next to her while she closed the door.

"Of course, Greg," Sophie replied distractedly, without looking at him.

"You dating another man?" Greg asked her directly.

She whirled around, raising her eyebrows in amazement, "It's none of your business, Greg!" Her voice was untypically sharp.

"I just…" Greg sighed and smiled in a placatingly manner. "You're right. I'm sorry, Soph..."

She did not let him finish. "Don't be, Greg. It's all right," she said quieter now. "It's not a date. Only a business meeting." She threw the keys in her purse and took a step toward her car. Suddenly she turned and looked into Greg's face with the sincere pain in her eyes, "Greg, tell me honestly, was this really so unexpected for you? You're his best friend. Didn't he tell you anything about this?"

Greg shook his head, "I swear. He never said a word to me about it ..." he said sincerely, holding out his hand to stop her, seeing that she had turned to her car again. "Wait, Sophie. Is this the final decision?"

Sophie hesitated a moment, obviously fighting the urge to go.

Then she said quietly, not looking at him, "Greg, believe me, I did everything to save our marriage. But after what happened ... I just didn't know what to do!" She raised her hands covering her face and shook her head in desperation.

Greg frowned. "What? What happened, Sophie?" he asked her anxiously.

"If it were a matter between me and Ed, Greg!" She took her hands from her face, "I know what it means for Ed, his job. The job comes first. Always." Sophie's voice trembled. "I never asked him to choose between me and the police. Between me and SRU. But when his work got between him and Clark... When he ... Yes, I asked him to make his choice, Greg." He could see she was barely holding back her tears now.

"Sophie, I'm sorry, I don't understand..." Greg began softly.

"Greg, didn't Ed tell you that Clark said that he hated him? That he called Ed a monster?" Sophie interrupted him.

Greg sighed heavily. Oh, now he got it.

"No. He didn't. But Clark is teenager. Teenagers are rebels. I don't think he really meant..."

Sophie did not seem to hear him. "And Ed didn't tell you about their ... conversation a month ago? He didn't tell you about how he grabbed Clark? How he shook him? How he yelled at him? How I had to pull him off before he did something worse? "Sophie asked in a trembling voice.

Greg stiffened. _That was impossible. Not Ed._

"God... No, Sophie, Ed would never..." He broke off, shaking his head.

Sophie sighed. "Greg, I don't know if you've noticed but Ed has changed a lot lately. He's become aloof, brooding, often not answering questions as if he wasn't hearing them. He began avoiding me and more especially Clark. I can wait until Ed gets it together again. But Clark …"

Greg nodded, silently, waiting for her to continue while trying to stifle a growing concern in his soul.

"On that day ... it was my birthday. I wanted it to be just a family evening, no guests. Only the three of us. Clarke and I, we tried so hard, wanted to make it a real celebration. Ed promised to comehome straight after his shift. But once again he didn't. He didn't return my calls. I was worried and called Winnie. She said that everybody had gone home, long ago..."

Greg frowned, remembering. He looked dismayed. "Wait, wait." He raised his hand, interrupting her, "I'm sorry, Soph. But Ed really had left just after debriefing. He said he was going to get flowers for you. He was glad. I do remember it!"

She chuckled bitterly, "Maybe he left but Winnie called mea couple of hours later and said she saw him in the cafeteria at the Barn. He was just sitting there. And he certainly was in no hurry to go home."

"Wait. Why would he return to the Barn?" Greg asked, puzzled. Now he didn't understand absolutely anything.

"Ask him yourself, Greg. Obviously he had reason to return to have a coffee at work, but not to go home for his wife's birthday," she sighed. "Clark saw that I was crying ... He was so angry. He's no longer a child. God, I should have known that this would happen... **" **She paused before continuing quietly,"Ed came home late at night. Clark was waiting for him in the living room, to talk." A couple of the first tears slipped down her cheeks and Greg took a step towards her, intending to hug her. She pulled back.

"No, Greg, don't. I'll calm down in a moment," she took out a tissue and wiped her eyes, "Just hear me out. I've never told anyone about this and never thought I would. Actually you're the first person I'm telling." She smiled weakly. "It's terrible that I dumped it all on you. You forgive me, okay?" Tears still streaming down her cheeks.

"It's okay, Sophie, it's okay, go on," Greg said quietly, sincerely sympathizing her. He was going to help Ed. But unexpectedly, the situation has changed and now it was Sophie who desperately needed help now.

"I don't know how the conversation began. When I went into the living room, I heard Ed snap at Clark. He told him to shut up. Clarke replied, that ... that it would be better if Ed had not come home at all. That only his work important to him. That we don't need him, and he does not need us. That Ed just spoils everything!" She paused for a moment, desperately holding back fresh tears.

"Jesus..." Greg listened her with horror, without believing.

"I tried to stop Clark. He... he began to shout ... bad things, Greg. Very bad things." Her voice trembled. "How many people have you neutralized today, Dad? Or should I say killed? He shouldn't have to say this, Greg! I know he didn't mean that, he actually never think so! It was only resentment! Just for spite, you know? "She looked at Greg desperately.

He nodded, stunned.

"I looked at Ed at that moment, Greg ... His face ... It was terrible to look at... He was livid. Then he rushed up to Clark, grabbed him by the collar. Hurled him into a chair. Pinned him against the back of a chair. He shook him. Shouted that Clark doesn't know anything about it, doesn't understand... "

"Did ... did he hit him?" Greg asked tensely_. No, please, anything but that, Ed ... __He'd__ never forgive himself..._

"No, no, he just shook him," Sophie said quietly. "It was Clark that tried to hit him... Clark ... It was like some sort of nervous breakdown, anger, resentment, hysteria, all at once. I tried to pull them apart. Clark was not himself. He shouted at Ed to get his hands off him. That they are covered with blood. That Ed is a monster, that he hates him, his work... "

Greg listened in silence, frozen in terror_. Ed why didn't you tell me about it?! _

"Ed let him go," continued Sophie. "Staggered back. I saw that he was in shock. Clark... He didn't understand. He just kept shouting at Ed. I pushed him into another room, closed the door. It was like the worst nightmare. Never before have I seen Ed or Clark like this. They ... they're both scared me." She paused, wiping tears away, "If it had just been between me and Ed!" she exclaimed bitterly. "But I was afraid for Clark ... I just didn't know what to do," she sighed.

"God, why didn't you call me? I would have come at once, I could have helped. If I'd known that things were so bad..." he muttered, running a hand across his face. _God, what a mess…_

"Maybe I should have. You're right," Sophie nodded. "I've decided that we need to live separately. Temporarily. To try to save what's left of our marriage. To give Ed and Clark time to cool down. To give Ed time to deal with his problems. The next morning I asked him to explain to me what was wrong with him? If something had happened to him that I didn't know about? What do you think he said? "

"That he was fine," Greg replied automatically.

"Of course," she nodded, "But he is not fine and nothing is fine. And I don't know if it will ever be fine..."

"Soph..."

"Before he left, I asked him to decide what's more important for him. Normal relations with his son or his work, which seems to be turning him into a monster. But more than a month has passed and he still hasn't answered. He has never offered to meet up and discuss how we move on. Obviously this situation is suiting him just fine. So ... the answer to your question. Yeah, I think that this is the final decision."

"Nevertheless, let me talk to him?" Greg gently took her hands in his.

She looked at him, her eyes still brimming with tears. "Talk?" She shrugged with obvious doubt. "Of course ... try to talk to him, Greg. Something has happened to him. I think you're the only person in the world with whom he'd try to discuss these things. If he's going to speak about it at all, "she sighed.

"And his brother? They still don't talk?" Greg asked, running in his mind all possible options to get any information about what was happening with Ed.

Sophie shook her head. "They don't. Clark and I, we both meet with Roy. But not Ed."

"I see." Greg nodded with annoyance.

"Greg,I'm begging you, help him, okay? For my part, I promise that I'll try to do everything possible to get Clark to cease hating him," Sophie said quietly.

"Soph, do you know where he is living now?"

"No. I have no idea, I'm sorry." She glanced at her watch. "Oh, Greg, I'm sorry, I really have to run..."

"Okay, Sophie. You ... You hold on, okay?" Greg pulled her to him and hugged her tightly.

"Thank you, Greg." She hugged him back and quickly went to her car. Suddenly, she turned around as if she remembered something. "Greg! Who is Jackson?"

"Who?" Greg looked at her confused.

"A few times Ed called Clark "Jackson". I thought maybe you've got a new rookie. No? All right, never mind." She shrugged and waved to him, walking away.

Greg was left standing on the footpath in front of her home, deep in his thoughts...

tbc


	3. Eddie, it's not too late to fix this

**Chapter 3 **

_"Eddie, it's not too late to fix this."_

12 days previously

"When were you going to tell me about this?" Greg stood with his arms folded, leaning back against one of the lockers in the locker room, looking at Ed who was quickly changing into his civilian clothes. "What? Were you thinking I'd never find out?"

Seeing Ed's tense posture, Greg sighed. This was not going to be easy. _But hell, he's a friend, he has to do something to help Ed and Sophie get through this crisis._

"You know, we'll have to talk about it sooner or later, Eddie," Greg said in a matter-of-fact tone. _No pressure. No interrogation. No boss. Just a concerned friend._

Ed ignored him as he laced up his shoes. He hadn't even bothered to turn to face Greg.

"Eddie? Ignoring me won't help, you know ..."

Ed didn't disappoint Greg's expectations. A sudden furious roar from the fist that crashed into the steel door thundered in the empty locker room louder than an explosion. Greg did not even flinch, not changing his posture an inch.

"Better now?" he asked quietly, smiling with a corner of his mouth. Ed was so Ed.

Ed froze for a moment, leaning on his hands with his forehead on the cold metal. His eyes were tightly closed. Greg saw that Ed was making every effort to keep his emotions in **check** and appreciated it.

"Eddie, I know about you and Sophie. Come on, buddy, I just want to help ..." He didn't finish, as Ed spun around.

"Did it ever occur to you that some things are private? Maybe I don't want to share?" he said, fixing his frosty blue eyes on Greg.

Greg shrugged and smiled at Ed, "Nope. I'm your commanding officer. I have a right to know everything." His voice softened. "But I'm also your friend, and I think that this may be something you need to talk about."

Ed pulled a face and chuckled mirthlessly, "Boss. What a way to waste each others time! As soon as you notice that my problems affect my work, just shove me in the truck. Put me on the perimeter. Suspend me. I don't care." His voice was tight with emotion. "So unless you have a complaint about my work, drop it. Stop pushing me. I'm not going to discuss anything with you."

"Whoa! Whoa!" Greg's eyebrows shot up. He was a bit puzzled and taken aback. He threw up his hands in front of him in an instinctive move to de-escalate his friend. "Calm down, okay? Nobody here is talking about complaints or suspension. Where did that come from?"

Ed stepped back and dropped heavily onto the bench, his arms hanging between his knees, his head lowered. For a while he was silent. Finally, he sighed and said, looking at Greg, "Listen, maybe it's time for someone else to lead Team One. I'm sure Wordy will cope."

Greg's eyes narrowed as he studied his friend openly. Ed didn't even seem to notice this.

Clenched fists. Gritted jaw. A tough posture. Involuntarily, Greg cataloged his friend's body language, automatically stepping into negotiation mode. It was something that had always helped him in the past and would help him now, help him to take control of the situation.

"Look," Greg said, sitting down beside Ed, "I never liked these talks in the locker room. I think it's a bit childish, isn't it? We're adults, Eddie? How about going to the briefing room? Or the cafeteria?" He used only short simple sentences. Smooth, calm, measured pace of speech. Low soft voice.

Being a good psychologist and a professional negotiator, Greg knew the right way to get through to any person. He reached out a tentative hand and placed it on Ed's shoulder. Tactile contact with the subject. A sign of support and participation. A sign of sympathy and empathy. A classic sign of "you can trust me".

But the problem was that Ed also knew all the tricks perfectly.

"Don't even try to act the negotiator or psychologist with me," he breathed out a harsh laugh and rose to his feet, shedding Greg's hand as he stood. "I'm fine, okay? It is my business, not yours. I have to deal with this myself, Sergeant."

_Sergeant? _Greg frowned. _Well, if Ed wants to talk to Sergeant Parker, he will._

"Ed, you and Sophie…" He also stood up, standing right in front of his friend. "Look, you're right. Whatever's between you two, that's none of my business. That's not what worries me. What worries me is that this thing at home seems to be leaking into your working life. So, you know the drill. If something's wrong and it's going to affect your performance, I need to know. I need to know if the personal problems of one team member could affect the efficacy and safety of the entire group. So as long as you are a member of my team that is my business too, as a sergeant of this team."

Ed stood before him, motionless, eyes narrowed. "So many words! In short, you're telling me that I represent a threat to the security of the group, boss? You don't trust me?" he said in a low voice stepping slowly toward Greg, almost entering his personal space.

Greg took a step back as Ed came close to him. He held up his hands again, not in a gesture of peace but in one of self-defense. _Damn, maybe he had pushed too hard.__ Well, what did you expect? You stick a needle in a tiger's behind, you gotta figure the tiger might object. Even if you are doing it for his own good. _

"It has nothing to do with trusting you, Eddie. Or trusting myself," he said as quietly as possible, but still firmly. "I'm only saying this as it's something that I cannot ignore. Something is going on with you. And you're definitely not fine even if you think so," he lowered his hands and smiled at Ed gently, suppressing all outward signs of his own inner anxiety and tension.

Ed stepped back, angry and distant, putting space between them.

"I meant no offense, Ed ..." said Greg quietly after a moment's pause. "But I'm really not going to allow your emotional state to become the cause of any problems. I know what a break with your wife and son means well enough. Been there, done that, t-shirt in my locker," he chuckled but not getting a response nor even a smile, he continued. "You're suffering, my friend. Pain can make you do and say things you would not normally do and say. As commander of this group and as your friend, I am obliged to foresee and prevent this. It's my job, my duty. And I know you understand," he was watching Ed closely and he was gratified to see that his posture was becoming a little less tense.

Ed smiled ruefully and shook his head in automatic protest. "You don't have to worry, Sergeant. I repeat. If you, or someone else, or I myself note that I can no longer fulfill my duty, I'll sit in the truck. Voluntarily. Or even leave the group if it comes to that."

Greg mentally cursed. _Damn, Eddie, I'm not going to lose you from the team. I'm not even going to let you think about it._

"What happened to 'Greg' today, eh?" he asked with a smile, trying to relieve the tension.

Ed grabbed his jacket and slammed his locker door without answering. His mouth was pressed into a tight line, a stubborn tough fold etched between his eyebrows.

Greg was not going to back down. "And what about Clark?" Gently he tried a different approach with his friend. "Come on. Sophie told me about what happened between you two... "

"It was just a tussle, Greg," Ed snapped, wearing his jacket, "No big deal. You know, I got a way with teenagers," he gave a bitter laugh.

"Eddie ... don't repeat my mistakes. He should know his father," Greg said quietly, "You have to keep in contact with Clark, keep meeting with him, no matter what happens between you and Sophie. You'll never forgive yourself if-"

"He doesn't even want to see me!" Ed suddenly exclaimed. Greg was astonished how much pain was in his friend's voice. "He hates me right now! And you know I can't say I blame him!"

"Damnit, Eddie, he's a teenager!" Greg answered shaking his head. "He was emotional, probably saying a lot of things he didn't mean but he certainly does not think that!"

"Clark is absolutely right, boss," Ed shook his head, his face darkening. "I failed him. I've lost him, his respect, his trust. This is all my fault. Only my fault ..."

"What kind of fault are you talking about? About why you shoved him?" Greg narrowed his eyes in confusion, "C'mon, this is nonsense! No big deal."

Without answering, Ed headed for the exit.

"Eddie, you can't keep it all inside. Let me help you, buddy..." Greg followed him and Ed whirled around.

"Why do you have to be so damn stubborn about this?" he asked.

Greg smiled. "That's rich coming from you."

"I'm not stubborn," Ed said doggedly, biting his lower lip.

"Ah-aah?" Greg raised an eyebrow skeptically.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Ed's mouth, appeared and faded all at once.

"Boss ... Greg ..." he said with bitterness. "I. .. I really appreciate what you're trying to do, but I have to figure this out myself. I've got to sort out some stuff. In my own head."

"Ed, come on ... it's been long enough," said Greg in response.

"So I need more," Ed snapped with a frown.

"How long? Six months? A year? Eddie,if nothing changes, if the situation stands still then you're stuck. Let me help you get out of this dead-end? Let me try at least," Greg persuaded, "Tell me what is tormenting you, and we will find a solution, buddy. I'm your friend. We'll figure it out."

"Using we? Negotiation 101." Ed's lips twitched sarcastically but the smile did not reach his eyes. His gaze was still gloomy, almost suffering.

Greg moved closer, blocking his path to the exit. "Eddie, it's not too late to fix this. Nothing has happened that can't be fixed."

At these words Ed suddenly shut his eyes tightly as if in pain and Greg had a feeling Ed was on the verge of telling him something, and he didn't want to ruin the moment so he kept quiet. But then the flash of doubt disappeared and the tough unemotional mask appeared back on Ed's face.

Greg waited but Ed just moved forward, heading for the door. The sergeant stepped in his way again and put one hand flat on Ed's chest, "Stop, Eddie, please," he said.

Ed just looked at him, his expression flat and hard and distant. Reluctantly, Greg stepped away, and without a word Ed passed past him to the door, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob.

He spoke without turning around.

"Greg, I'll be fine, I promise. Just ... just trust me on this. I'll handle it but I really need some time," he said with an undercurrent of _please, Greg_. "Alone."

Greg wanted to fight it but he knew no amount of arguing would stay Ed now. With a sigh, he surrendered, anxiously watching the back of his departing friend.

_Okay, Eddie, I'll give you a little more time. I trust you..._

tbc


	4. Boss, he had a Glock in his hand

Chapter 4

_"Boss, he had a Glock in his hand!" _

**10 days previously **

Greg saw Spike standing in the door of the cage.

"Boss! We need to talk. We've got a big problem..." Spike's voice was tense and sharp. His brow furrowed, he chewed on his lip and Greg sensed a question looming behind his eyes.

"Spike? What's up?" Greg went outside and looked into the young man's anxious eyes. _Well, I think I know the name of this problem_, he thought suddenly.

"It's about Ed," Spike said shortly.

Greg sighed. Well, his intuition hadn't failed him. He pushed away the uneasy feeling between his shoulder blades. "I get the feeling I'm not going to like this, Spike…" he muttered. "He's where I think he is?" His tone was sombre.

"Firing range, of course," Spike nodded.

"Why doesn't that surprise me," Greg said with a sigh. A frown crossed his face. "Let's get a briefing room. Lately my conversations here have had a tendency to turn out badly," he chuckled mirthlessly. The tickle turned into a full-blown chill down his spine.

...

"Boss, so you knew everything? About Ed and Sophie?" Spike asked in an almost accusatory tone. "How long?"

Greg shrugged. "Not long. Unfortunately. I found out a few days ago, by accident. How did you know? Ed told you?"

Spike snorted, "Ed? Never. Jules called Sophie. She was going to invite her to their margarita-evening - just for girls. Sophie told her everything. Jules asked her if it was okay to tell the others about it. Sophie replied that it wasn't a secret and that you knew everything already."

Greg nodded.

"Boss, have you talked to him about it?"

"I've tried," Greg replied in a steady voice, "Wordy too. But you see, he doesn't want to talk to anyone," a shadow fell over his face. "Spike, it's personal. I can't order him to talk to me about it. I can only ask him and I did but I also don't want to push him too hard. He has the right not to discuss it."

"Boss, it's been almost two months. Maybe it's time you did push?" Spike suggested anxiously.

Greg sighed. "Listen ... Ed, he's used to dealing with his own problems in his way. Maybe he doesn't really need all these heart-to-heart talks. I'm sure he'll cope. He's a strong man."

"Yeah, well,lately this strong man looks like he's about to fall apart," Spike chuckled mirthlessly.

"But he hasn't," Greg retorted quietly. "Spike, I understand your concern.I'm worried about him too. All of us are. But what can I do? He doesn't want to talk. He's coping. I have no reason suspend him or put him in the truck. And to be honest... I'm afraid that if I do it, Ed... he'll..." Parker struggled, searching for the words.

"Still fall apart, huh?" Spike finished for him.

Greg shook his head. "Look, I'm sure this won't happen, Spike. And the other thing I know is that Ed needs our full confidence in him. This is the best way to help him now," he offered vaguely, as though hesitating what to say. Then, he went on with more resolve, "Damn, Spike, it's about his family life! It's private. Ed has made it clear he wishes to be left alone. Surely we must respect that desire. Let's give him the right to handle this by himself. He's only asking for time and our trust."

Spike shook his head. "It means leaving him alone. Even though it's the last thing he needs. Are you sure? Okay, say you give him time he asks you to; aren't you afraid that when you finally decide the time is up, it will be too late to help him? If ... If Ed does something ... " Spike stopped suddenly, his head bowed. He looked like he wants to say more, but he bit it back.

Greg frowned, the alarm bell jingling in the back of his brain sounding louder now."Spike, has something happened that I should know about?"

Spike did not reply immediately, obviously still having doubts. He looked at Greg, clearly troubled. Scrubbing a hand across his face he finally said, "He'll probably kill me if he finds out that I've told you, but I can't not. You need to be forewarned. Just ... don't let on that you know, okay? "

"Hard to do that when I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Greg said with a frown. "Just spit it out."

Spike nodded, "Boss ... A couple of days ago I found Ed in the armory cell. He didn't see me. He didn't know that I was watching him. Well, not that I was watching him... Okay, that's not the point. Boss, he was there all alone and there was a Glock in his hand. And he... "Spike stopped, hesitating. Frowned. Sighed. Drummed his fingers on the table.

Greg's heart missed a beat as he suddenly realized where the conversation was leading. He stared in horror at Spike, "Wha... What?" it came out as a whisper. He swallowed. "Spike, you know that what you're gonna to say is very serious?"

They exchanged a look.

"I understand it all too well, boss," Spike assured him hastily but confidently, "It's why I'm here," he said now unhesitatingly, apparently leaving all doubts aside.

"Okay. Go ahead," Greg nodded.

"His Glock. I thought he was cleaning it," Spike began to speak quickly, "But he just stood there and looked at the gun. Then he began to pick it up slowly. I reacted before he could bring it to his head . But I'm sure he was going to!" He almost shouted out the last words.

"Crap ..." Greg swore under his breath and rubbed his face with his hands. His mouth went dry and he feel his heart pounding. _Don't panic! _Hastily, he tried to gather his thoughts.

"The Glock wasn't charged," Spike continued quieter now. "I broke into the armory cell, took his gun, yelled at him, threatened to go to you, to Holleran. He laughed it off, said that this was just a joke. That he had never thought about such things. He showed me that the Glock was not charged. Well, you know him. He can be so charming, so persuasive! Yes, I really believed that it was just a joke. I wanted to believe it and believe him! Because if it was not a joke ... It would be unbelievable, unthinkable! Boss, this is Ed Lane! He... He is indestructible!" Spike said desperately.

"Yes. Indestructible," Greg repeated hoarsely, "What then?"

"Damn, he really made me believe that it was all a joke! Very silly, but still a joke. But... I was scared then, boss. Really scared. And I'm still scared ..." he looked at Greg. "What are we going to do, boss?"

"Spike, tell me honestly, do you really think that Ed is suicidal?" Greg asked, his voice tense.

"Boss, I don't know. But you have to admit, Ed hasn't been ... himself ... lately," Spike replied sullenly. Greg nodded in silent agreement. "When I found out about him and Sophie, I thought it could be depression. It's often only one step from depression to suicide, we all know that. So ... I decided that I can't remain silent about this. So, I've told you everything," Spike shrugged. "You won't tell him I told you, will you?" he asked hesitantly.

"No, I won't tell him," Greg promised. "You did everything right, Spike ..." the sergeant said grimly as he stared thoughtfully into space_. Damn, everything was bad_. _Much worse than he thought after his conversations with Ed and Soph._

"What are you gonna do about it? What are we **all** gonna do?" Spike looked at the sergeant with concern, nervously biting his lips.

Greg said nothing for a long moment. Things didn't add up. Ed was not the kind of person to be thinking about suicide because of family problems. Damn, Ed would never contemplate suicide because of any problems! No way. Impossible. He's not suicidal. Greg would have noticed. Wouldn't he? Of course, they're friends, after all! During the years of friendship, they knew each other so well that could read each other pretty well. And if Ed... _God, if I've missed something?_ _If things really have gone so far? God, Eddie, what's WRONG with you?_

His voice was muffled when he finally spoke, "What to do? I don't know yet. What you said ... I'm sorry, that pulled the rug from under me," he sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, Ed has some problems, he definitely suffering. Depression?" he frowned, "Maybe, but I haven't picked up on any suicidal tendencies in him. Damn, I can't believe it ..." his voice broke but he took a deep breath and carried on, "… but I certainly can't ignore what you've said. Assuming that your suspicions are true ... Obviously, you expect me to suspend him from active duty?" he looked at Spike, "But I can't. Not without due cause."

"Not without due cause?" Spike repeated, his eyebrows rising in surprise. He stared at the sergeant stunned for a moment. "All right. It's your call, boss," he said. "But don't you think that is due cause?" he sounded perplexed.

Greg got up and walked to the window, trying to regain his composure. Spike watched him silently.

"Spike," Greg said without turning his head. "I keep my eye on him. Closely. I can see that he is trying to return to normal. He is trying keep his problems from affecting his work. And he's coping," he said pointedly. "He's really coping Spike. I'd stake my life on it."

"You're staking all our lives on it," Spike retorted, frowning.

Greg pulled a face. "There's really no reason to suspend him from field work or his leadership of the team. He didn't sound distressed or psychotic or on the verge of a breakdown. If, after what you've told me..." he frowned, "If I suspend him... I think it's the worst thing I can do for him now, and you know it. No. I won't do it," he let out a gusty sigh and leaned his forehead against the cold glass, squeezing his eyes shut. "Damn, I don't want to do that!" he shouted angrily hitting the window with his hand.

"But maybe you have to do it," Spike said quietly.

"Maybe. I don't know," Greg sighed, turning away from the window back to the table. Sitting down, he looked into his teammate's worried eyes. "Spike. His work, this team ... it's probably the only thing that's keeping him from ... falling apart, as you said. If he is really on the verge now and if I suspend him, it could destroy him. Don't you see? It could be the jolt that pushes him over the edge. And then we'll lose Ed from the team, from SRU."

"But if you don't boss, we'll lose Ed, altogether," Spike replied gloomily.

"No. That won't happen, Spike," Greg snapped sharply. "That won't happen."

Spike did not answer.

They were silent for a while.

"Boss. Talk to him," Spike's quiet voice finally broke the silence. "There must be a reason for this. I mean, there must be something more than just his break with Sophie."

"Yeah, maybe ..." Greg replied thoughtfully. Spike had voiced Greg's own suspicions. _If there really is something else? Something that Ed so stubbornly refuses to speak about. But what could it be? What is __it__, that Ed refuses to talk __about__ even with his best friend? __What on earth could it be that would make Ed think about suicide?_Greg bit his lips, thinking intently.

Spike interrupted his thoughts. "Boss. What about the others? Should we tell them about it?"

Greg shook his head decisively. "No way, Spike. Yet it's only our suspicion, nothing more. First I want to sort it all out. Find out what's happening. What if we're wrong? Rumors spread like wildfire. It could cost him his job. We won't be helping him, we'll only be making it worse."

"Boss, there won't be any rumors," Spike said, "We are a team. This is our business. The team has to know. Well, we will all look after him…"

"Look after? Or watch him? Spy on him, you mean?" Greg frowned, "Every time he has a weapon in his hand? No longer trusting him? You know perfectly well where this could lead, Spike. It would be better to suspend him right now," he shook his head angrily, "No! No, I'm asking you. Don't say anything. Damn, I've known Ed for twenty years, I can't believe it!" he stated flatly. "Ed's not suicidal. He's the strongest person I know."

"Even the strongest can break sometimes, boss," Spike said stiffly, standing up. "Okay. I got it," he said, making no attempt to hide his disappointment with Greg's decision. "But about your request to leave him alone ... I'm sorry. I can't stand by and watch him go through that all alone without trying to help. And I won't! Boss…" He sighed adding reproachfully, "He's your best friend. You can't leave everything as it is..."

Greg nodded. "I won't. I'll keep an eye on him, I promise, Spike. Thank you for telling me. You did the right thing." He also stood up. "But I'm asking you not to push Ed. This could make things worse at this point. You got it?" he asked. Receiving no answer he continued, "Ed won't do anything stupid. He'll be fine, I'm sure, I promise you," he walked over to his gloomy teammate. "Spike. Ed asked me to trust him. And I do. And I'm asking you to trust me. I'll deal with this, okay? Everything going to be all right! I promise you."

Spike hesitated but then he nodded grudgingly. "Okay. It's your call, boss. I hope you're right." Frowning, he left the briefing room.

tbc


	5. Is it my fault you went all kamikaze,Ed?

**Chapter 5.**

_"So, it's my fault you went all kamikaze, Ed?!"_

_7 days ago _

Stunned, angry and scared Jules sat in the passenger seat of the SUV and slammed the door. Adrenaline from recent events still raged in her blood. All she wanted was to go to Ed and tell him what she thought about his insane act. Not quite tell, actually. Maybe yell. Scream at him.

_Hell, we were a hairbreadth away from __losing__ him!_ She shut her eyes tight and took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. There would be a debriefing and she would have ample opportunity to tear Ed's head off. She was sure that the other members of the team were currently experiencing similar desires.

She looked at Sam, sitting in the driver's seat with a sullen, almost angry expression, watching through the windshield the scene in front of them. His mouth was pressed into a tight line.

Ed was seated on the back of an ambulance. The paramedic had just finished the bandage on Ed's wounded shoulder. Now he was carefully studying Ed's naked chest, gently examining the place where the second bullet had hit the vest.

Greg and Wordy stood near him, their voices echoing loudly through their headsets. Apparently, the two men had decided not to wait for a debriefing and even the presence of the paramedic could not stop them. Spike and Lou stood silently in the distance, frowning and apparently also listening to the conversation.

"Damn it Ed, what the hell was that?" Wordy cried furiously. "Bravo Team were just 15 seconds away!"

Ed made a face. "Wordy, you know perfectly well the hostage didn't have those 15 seconds. Subject was armed and inebriated. He had passed the 'point of no return'. I did what I thought was best. If we had continued to wait-"

"Bullshit!" Wordy interrupted him. "There was no reason for you to go in without backup!" Jules have never heard the always calm and good-natured Wordy speak with such anger.

Ed sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "Once again, we could not wait. If I hadn't have gone in he would have killed thehostage. He's already killed two people today. He crossed the line. Boss, you heard him. He wasn't bluffing."

"Yes, Ed, I heard," Greg replied in a tightly controlled voice, "But why didn't you let me talk him down?"

"Damn, Greg, you were trying to talk to him down, but he wasn't listening to you!" Ed said irritably.

"So, it's my fault you went all kamikaze?!" Jules saw Greg suddenly clench his fists in barely contained rage.

Ed grimaced again. From pain or irritation, wondered Jules. Or both?

"That's not what I meant, boss. And you did not have all the information. I had a visual on the subject and the hostages. He moved them, got them in a line, opposite the door. If we made an aggressive entry..."

"But did you give us this information?" Greg cut him off in a harsh tone.

"I did," Ed snapped back.

"Only after you started acting on your own!" the sergeant cried out.

Ed shrugged with his good shoulder. "Greg, I made the right call. Situation was changing fast. We were running out of time."

"It doesn't matter! That's not how we work, you know that!" Greg didn't hide his indignation and anger. Anger which hid a sincere fear for his friend, Jules had seen it as well. "We are a team! We don't act individually, without informing the others! We do not go in without backup! Did you ever think of that?!"

"There was no time for discussion. The situation demanded quick decisions," Ed said in a tightly-controlled voice.

"Decisions? You provoked him!" Wordy blurted out. "He hit you twice and almost putting a freaking bullet into your brain!" He pointed furiously at the small burn on Ed's left eyebrow where one of the bullets passed close by.

"Well, he was a lousy shooter," Ed gave the ghost of a smile, sluggishly trying to laugh it off.

Greg ignored his smile. "Ed, tell me why you ordered Sam to stay behind! Explain that!" he barked in a tough tone.

Ed shook his head. "It would have been a bloodbath. That was what the bastard wanted, Greg, you know that. He was trying to force our hand, to get us to storm in and end this. He would have killed that hostage straightaway. The others after that. And then there would have been cross-fire. At that point other hostages would have been at risk. From the subject's bullets, but more likely from our own."

"You cannot know that, Ed," Wordy said glumly.

"Yes, I can, Wordy," Ed chuckled darkly. "Guys, it's all right. Subject wanted the revenge. I fulfilled his requirement. Obviously, he did not expect this. He expected that we would storm the building. I went in alone, without shooting, with my hands up, not threatening, the gun in my holster. I diverted his attention to myself, distracting him and forcing him to change the position. He took the gun away from the head of his hostage and transferred it to me. He had ceased threatening that guy. The rest of hostages then had the opportunity to get out of the line of fire. You had the time to get into position. I had it under control," he said calmly but sounding distant, like he wasn't really thinking about it.

"You call that control? Damn! You didn't distract him! You let him shoot you, Ed! That's not the same thing!" Greg and Wordy exclaimed simultaneously.

Ed released a tired breath. "He was escalating, we all saw it. I used my best judgment, based on my instinct and my experience in the field. We urgently needed to distract him to divert his attention away from that hostage and onto someone else. It was the only thing I could do until Bravo Team could act. When I saw an opportunity to make a clean shot, I used it. That's all," Ed stood up, slowly beginning to dress.

"Ed, do you hear what you're saying? Are you crazy? You deliberately put yourself in harm's way! You planned to distract his attention and gain time for us by letting him shoot you?" Greg threw his hands up in the air in angry frustration, "Things could have gone wrong in so many different ways! Tell me, were you even planning on getting out of there alive?"

Something flashed over Ed's face. "The risk assessment was made and deemed admissible. We got the bad guy and the hostages were saved, unharmed. That's the main objective, right? So, end of discussion. Finished," Ed said, almost indifferently, buttoning his jacket and turning his back on his furious teammates.

"Nothing is finished, Ed!" Greg said firmly.

"Guys, our fan club has arrived ..." Spike's somber voice echoed in their headsets and they saw SIU and the coroners car approaching.

"Officers," SIU officers greeted them. "Who's the subject officer?"

"Constable Ed Lane. But he is injured and first needs to go to the hospital," Greg had not finished but Ed interrupted him.

"Hey, doc! Do I need to go to the hospital?"

"Ed, shut up!" Boss turned sharply towards him. He was definitely pissed off.

"I got a bruise and a graze, Greg," Ed rolled his eyes. "I had worse than that in basic training."

"It looks to me like a hell of a lot more than a graze, Ed!" Wordy said irritably.

Ed shook his head stubbornly, "Doc!" Ed called the paramedic again, "Do I really need to go to the hospital right now?"

"Right now? Well, your life is not threatened at this time. The wound is not deep, the bleeding has stopped..." He did not finish, as Ed turned to his teammates.

"You hear? I'm fine."

"But the wound has to be checked by the doctor. You will need some antibiotics, painkillers," the paramedic continued. "And I'd like you to get an x-ray to check whether there is a fracture or cracked ribs."

"Hey, I know what broken ribs feel like, believe me, there are no fractures," Ed replied with a smirk.

"Tomorrow you will need to change the bandage," the medic shrugged. It was not the first time in his line of work that a slightly wounded patient refused hospitalization.

"Perfect. Tomorrow. Did you hear?" Ed waved his hand and turned to SIU officers, "Come on, guys. I want to finish this quickly."

"Whenever you're ready, officer."

"I'm ready," Ed nodded.

"So, now you're under investigation. You're sequestered. It means..."

"I know the drill. No talking. You can't imagine how glad I am to hear that, guys. Well, you have my full cooperation, let's go!" He glanced at Greg and Wordy standing next to him, smiled wryly, got into the SIU car and slammed the door, isolating himself from his teammates.

They left.

Jules saw the boss walk up to Spike, taking him aside and turning his radio off. Spike did the same and men began to talk. Anxiously, she watched them. _God, what secrets __are they keeping__ from the team now? _

She saw Greg shake his head clearly trying to calm Spike down who continued to say something, gesticulating furiously and pointing to the rest of the team. Suddenly, Spike waved off and headed toward his SUV, almost pushing Greg's shoulder to get past him. _What the hell is going on?_

"Sam?" Jules said in a small quiet voice.

He looked at her questioningly. She turned off her radio and motioned for Sam to do the same. Now their conversation was no one could hear too.

"Spike and the boss, did you see?" She looked perplexed, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Sam nodded.

"What's happening?" she asked.

"I have no idea. But something is definitely amiss here. And I don't like this at all," Sam replied.

"Sam ... tell me ... you're the tactician, as well as Ed. His actions there ... if we put aside emotions, how did you assess it?" Jules glanced at him anxiously.

Sam frowned, biting his lip. This was what he had been thinking about for the last half hour.

"Okay emotion aside ... at that point all of our solutions included high threat to the hostages. Maybe we could have tried to continue negotiations with the subject. But he wasn't responding to Greg. Another negotiator?" Sam shrugged slightly, clearly thinking aloud. "Maybe it could have changed something, I don't know. I'm not sure. Yeah, Ed changed the plan of action. But it's not unheard of. We often change our plans depending on the situation..."

"We, Sam! We! Group! But not alone!" Jules exclaimed.

Sam snorted. "Well, Team Leader's privilege. He can take the autocratic decisions sometimes and he did."

"How can you joke about it, Sam?" Jules cried reproachfully. "Nobody has the right to make such decisions without informing the group," she shook her head and then whispered, "It was close, Sam. It terrifies me to think how close..."

"Then don't," Sam cut her off. He looked at her and said quietly, "Jules, you really think that if he had informed us, we would have approved his plan? That the boss would have approved? Never. Yes, his plan was risky but the fact remains that it worked. The subject neutralized and the hostages unharmed. The end result is in our favor. This is the main thing. Ed's right."

"You ... I can't believe it! You're taking his side on this?! You're justifying his actions?" Jules said haltingly. She looked at Sam with amazement and almost with horror.

"Jules, listen... tactically everything was done right. In that situation, it was necessary to act immediately. And this was one of the possible options. Maybe it was insane, daring, risky, but it was still an option. Ed chose it. He used the element of surprise and it worked. The subject wanted revenge. He was making obviously impossible demands. He was waiting for us to attack, to go in shooting. He did not expect that someone would go in ... sacrificing himself," Sam frowned. "Yes, Ed went in alone without shooting, and without a weapon drawn, giving the subject the opportunity to shoot him. It really ... uh ... focused the subject's attention on himself and distracted the bastard from those hostages, giving us time to get into position. It was a risk, but only for him. And Ed is right, if we had both gone in, he and I, there would have been crossfire. Narrow room, one entrance, brick walls. Shooting from both sides. High risk of ricochet. Adding to that the panic. Yes, victims would have been inevitable," he reasoned.

"We could have done an explosive entry… Flash-bangs, stun grenades?" Jules muttered.

"Are you serious? In such a small space? With a dozen teenagers in the line of fire? With this bastard's finger on the trigger?" Sam shook his head skeptically. "He still had time to fire, Jules… We were all out of range; we didn't see what Ed saw. It was directly in his sight and so he made a split second decision. So, you see, it turns out that Ed's plan was ..." he paused, choosing the right words, " ...not perfect, but pretty reasonable."

"God, this is crazy ..." Jules shook her head in shock. "I can't believe that you applaud his actions!"

"I don't like it anymore than you!" Sam snapped, "But it worked! It's a miracle that it ended like that and I'm sure we could have tried to find another solution... I just don't know what solution. And given the speed things were rolling... We were called in too late. There was no time to look for alternatives. I think that we will find them during the debriefing. But now... what's done is done. Thank God it's over like that."

Jules shook her head, still refusing to agree.

Sam was silent for a moment, thinking hard about something. Then he spoke again, more quietly.

"But there is one part that really worries me. How easily Ed came under fire. Talk about a lousy shooter! Jules, tell me, do you think that recently Ed was… has become ... reckless? Not negligent but reckless, with his own life? "

She gave him a long, steady look. Then she sighed. "Yes, Sam ... This is what scares me badly. I'm afraid that ..." she did not finish her sentence, not wanting to vocalize her fears.

"That we can lose Ed, huh?" Sam finished for her.

She nodded silently.

"What should we do, Jules?" Sam's voice was strained.

She looked through the windshield thoughtfully. Standing near the command truck, Greg was speaking with Wordy now. Jules couldn't hear what was being said, but as a skilled profiler she involuntarily watched their gestures and posture reading their body language. They appeared to be arguing, although the dispute was not as violent as the recent one with Spike. She saw Wordy stretch out his hands, obviously asking Greg about something. But the boss just shook his head.

"Sam ... I think the boss is aware of what's going on with Ed. If all this is due to Ed breaking up with Sophie ... None of us have experience of that. But the boss has. I think the Sarge is the only one who can really understand Ed now. And he's the only one who knows what to do. How to help. And besides similar experiences... they're friends, after all," she sighed and looked at Sam, "I'm worried about Ed, Sam. But I think we should trust the boss right now. He knows what to do. Ed will be okay. I'm sure. "

tbc


	6. Ed, the boy!

Chapter 6

"Ed, the boy!"

_5 days ago_

... he takes off his gloves and uses them to put pressure on the entry and exit wounds, knowing that the wound is too large, there's too much blood, and it's ... already too late.

"_I gotcha, buddy, I gotcha_," he says over and over again, holding his hands over the chest of the youth lying in front of him. "_You're going to be okay. Stay with me, Jackson. Stay with me." _

The youth opens his eyes and looks up at him. Ed does not see boy's lips moving, but somehow he can hear his words._ "I just wanted to help. You __promised __me__that everything __would__be fine. Why did you deceive me, Officer Lane? Why didn't you save me?" _His eyes bore into Ed's accusingly waiting for a response.

_"I tried!" _Ed answers desperately._ "I would have done anything to save you!"_

_"You failed," _the voice utters again.

_"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Jackson," _Ed pleads._ "I waited too long. Forgive me, please."_

_"There is no forgiveness, Officer. None at all. You failed. And now I'm dead,"_ comes the quiet whisper. Ed looks away from the face of the dying boy, unable to bear the sight. He sees blood, lots of blood covering his hands that he is pressing over the wound in the youth's chest. _"My death will forever be on your hands," _the condemnation is relentless, allowing no relief, no forgiveness.

He looks once more at Jackson. But is no longer Jackson under his hands and Ed freezes in horror.

It's another boy. He's younger, little more than sixteen years old. Dark hair, brown eyes.

"_Stay with me,"_ Ed whispers hoarsely. _"Stay with me, kiddo. I gotcha, buddy, I gotcha. "_

This boy should not be here.

His older brother is a member of a large street gang. Today he has planned to introduce his younger brother Thomas into the gang. He doesn't know about the police raid planned for that night.

As a young officer of Guns-and-Gangs, Ed Lane doesn't know that there is an unarmed frightened boy among heavily armed gang members shooting at them.

The sixteen-year Thomas doesn't know that he must not run, being in the middle of the shootout. But he has run. Right into the firing line. It's Ed's bullet that hit him. Ed hasn't seen him, he could not have known he was there. The boy has jumped out unexpectedly and too fast, from behind a corner. When nothing could be changed.

_"Ed, the boy!"_a desperate loud cry of his partner from the opposite side of the street...

But it's too late, because a bullet from Ed's gun has already found its target.

Just a split second that changed everything.

A frightened child, who got caught in the middle of this hell. A tragic accident.

_"Stay with me. You're going to be okay. Stay with me,"_ Ed whispers while he pressing his hands over the gaping hole in the body in a futile attempt to stop the flow. But the blood pours out. Too much blood. It's wet sticky heat flows between Ed's fingers. Over his hands. Under his nails. The ground beneath his knees is beginning to turn red.

The brown eyes flutter open. Confused eyes. Scared eyes. Accusatory eyes. The kid focuses on Ed's face. He opens his mouth to speak, to give him his last words.

"_You killed me..."_ he whispers as he closes his eyes, forever.

The blood trickles down his cheek, a vivid red slash against the stark white of the shocked face.

The staccato of the gunfire is deafening. No time to think now. All Ed's attention is focused on the kid who lies before him, dying.

He's dying because of his mistake and Ed can't help him.

_"I'm sorry, oh God, I'm so sorry,"_ he whispers.

The chest rises and falls beneath his hands, ever shallower, ever slower. Precious air gurgles and bubbles as it forces its way through the blood in the throat.

Red. Everything is red. Red with blood. On his clothes. On his hands ... all over his hands.

He looks at the kid's face again.

But the face is no longer that of Thomas Hutter, 16 year old, who was involuntarily killed by the 25 year old officer of the Guns and Gangs Ed Lane more than 15 years ago.

This is Clark in front of him now, looking at Ed's furiously. He pushes Ed's hands away.

_"Get off me_!" he spits the words into Ed's face.

He curses and swears at Ed, shouts at him, and his voice full of repulsion, hatred, and pain. _"Your hands are covered in blood, I hate you! You're a monster! You hear me?! You're a monster!"_

_..._

His eyelids snapped open as he sat upright, sheets gathering around his waist.

His heart pounded against his ribcage.

He was soaked with cold sweat.

He breathed, anxious, dragging in deep breaths, struggling to calm himself. The remnants of the nightmare echoed in his head, the details vague but the terror still fresh.

He ran a shaky hand across his face and then looked down at his hands, afraid to see... _Afraid to see what? _He gave a brief nervous little laugh and looked at his palm again. Not red, just wet._ Sweat. God, I'm going crazy_...

He swallowed convulsively and threw the blanket aside, hissed in pain when his body protested the movement. He just sat there for a while, hugging his aching ribs and coaxing pulsation in his left shoulder to subside. He'd been through this before, been shot before, but practice wasn't making it any easier.

Finally, he got up and made his way stiffly to the bathroom. Found some painkillers. Yes, he could stand the pain, but what was the point?

Then he went back to bed and curled up on his good side.

Sleep would not come. He was glad, though. He was not sure that he was ready return to his nightmares. _No, close it, you can do it, just close it. Build a wall, build a wall... _

His wall that he had been building carefully for a long while. And for fifteen years it had kept his dark memories under control, not allowing the darkness to invade in his life, destroying it. He learned to live with this walled area of his memory.

He was fine.

Until that day almost a year ago on the roof of First York Plaza...

_"Ed, the boy!" Jules shouts and the boy's head crosses Ed's scope at the moment when nothing can to change. A spray of blood. He can't move. Forces himself to look over the edge of the building. He grabs his rifle, swings the scope to his eye. Gasping, in shock, he struggles to find the scene again through the rifle sight._

_The boy's alive. Ed did not kill him._

But that day the first cracks in his wall appeared and the darkness that Ed had kept locked away for fifteen years, had started to break free. Black tentacles of nightmares start to wriggle their way into his dreams.

He copes. Desperately, frantically, furiously he is patching the cracks the only way he knew how. More work, more shifts. Less time to think. Less time to remember.

It has almost worked.

Almost.

Until six months ago, there was Danny. Daniel Rangford. A mentor, a friend, someone Ed had trusted.

The tortured, drained, exhausted man nearly destroyed by his own demons that he could not hold behind the wall anymore. Begging for his death to come. Seeking the peace and quiet - and maybe - for absolution?

Ed had helped his friend that day. But the scarcely bandaged cracks deepened, widened. And to restrain the darkness, fighting its way to freedom, became more difficult. But still he was coping.

And finally ...

Jackson Barcliffe. A hot call two months ago and the boy in the firing line. The boy, who should not have been there.

_"Too bad about the kid. How else was it going to end?" Sam shrugs._

_"I don't know! I don't know, but that is not your call! Maybe I was wrong, Sam, maybe!" He pounces on Sam, pushing him against the wall of the truck._

He knew all too well that he was wrong. He had waited too long, trying desperately to not put this kid at risk. He had been wrong. He had failed and betrayed the boy's trust_._

_"End of the road, Ed!" _

_The gunfire is deafening... _

_And again... his hands are pressed to the wound in the chest of a dying boy. Again the blood pours out. __Too much blood. _

"_I gotcha, buddy, I gotcha," he whispers. All repeated with a cynical horrifying similarity. And somehow he suddenly knows that this was his bullet. That the bullet from his MP5 had torn through the boy's chest._

"_You're going to be okay. Stay with me, Jackson. Stay with me," he mutters looking at his own hands._

_Red._

_Everything slows down around him, becoming distant and oddly unsteady._

_Only those desperate terrible screams from the past all around. "Ed, the boy!.. Ed, the boy!.. Ed, the boy!.."_

_He can't see if there is someone nearby. He is not here now, not in this room. It's night around him, and he's on that street again, fifteen years ago, kneeling in front of a bloodied body of the child he had just killed._

_But it is not night. It is the walls collapsing completely, releasing the darkness. And there will be no way to hide from it._

_It's everywhere. _

...

He goes through the debriefing and writes a standard report about this call. He puts down his words with a clinical indifference. Only the facts, a strict account of the events from the viewpoint of the team leader. Nothing more. No ghosts or shadows from the past.

The boss frowns while he reads his report. He looks up at Ed with obvious anxiety. Was he waiting for something more in this report? Was he really waiting for Ed put there all the fears and doubts?

"Eddie, we all saw how he aimed the gun at Jackson..." Greg says quietly.

Ed shakes his head. "But we did not see him take the shot, boss."

They are silent for a while.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Greg offers with a sigh.

Ed stares at him. This is his best friend in front of him. They've never had any secrets from one other. But for some reason he hates this sympathetic, patronizing glance now, this offer to help, this silent alarm in his friend's voice. He is barely able to suppress his feelings of rage.

He had never needed anyone's sympathy or help. He has been living with this for fifteen years and he has coped pretty well. He will cope now. On his own. He has to. This is his business, damn it!

Still, he knows he isn't truly angry with Greg. His anger has come from a lot of sources. The events of the past few months, too little sleep, too many demons ... so he forces his anger under control.

"I'm fine, Greg," he says, looking away, "I'm fine..."

And he sincerely believes it.

"I'm fine," over and over he whispers his eternal mantra lying long nights without sleep.

…

The days go by.

Their reports fall on Holleran's desk. It is the job of other people to decide on the viability and justification of group's actions. His actions and his decisions. There will be technical expertise, a coroner's inquest, the conclusion of the review board. And it will be clarified whether the subject shot the hostage as stated in Parker's report. Or there will be a confirmation that the bullet did not come from the subject's gun, as suggested by Ed in his own report. Only then will they be informed about the results of the investigation.

The days go by. Things return their routine after a while. He tries his best, making every effort to hold on. He continues to work, hiding himself behind the mask of the strong, confident, competent Team Leader. Waiting stoically for the darkness to lift.

The days go by. The hot calls continue to come one after another and suddenly he becomes aware that he is almost in a panic every time a child or teenager involved.

The days go by. Finally, he can no longer bear the tormenting suspense and requests the ballistic report and the coroner's conclusion. And he gets the answer that he already knew.

There will be no investigation or consequences. The conclusion is formal. It was a ricochet. An accident. A major problem for prosecutor Sean Keenan who dropped the murder charge against Jackson Barcliffe. And this the main issue that their superiors are concerned about now. Not the ascertainment from exactly which MP5 that bullet had come. The Jackson family decided not to press charges. Case closed. Nobody is going to spend the budget for the laborious additional analysis of the mangled bullet just for one constable to cease suffering nightmares.

«An accident». It's something he had heard before, 15 years ago. They said accident, too, but Ed heard the thoughts behind the words. The sympathy in the voices of his colleagues didn't match the horror in their eyes...

The days go by... He works twelve, fifteen hours a day, eats something just to keep himself alive. Coming home exhausted only to pass out for five-six hours, hoping not having any dreams or nightmares before dawn comes again and he can go back to work.

But the nightmares are there. They are becoming more varied, accumulating new excruciating details. They follow him, never letting him escape from their fixed grasp. Over and over again he wakes up screaming and then lies sleepless until the alarm clock rings.

He doesn't sleep with Sophie in their bedroom any more, afraid to wake her with his screams. He sleeps alone, on a narrow little couch in the basement. Fearing questions, he pushes her away and seeing her wounded confused glance is a new pain for him.

Poor Sophie... God, he is so unworthy of her. She is not deserving of it. She needs someone with a nine to five job, who would always be home for dinner. Not the sullen, brooding man he'd become, exhausted by nightmares and demons. But she is tolerant and doesn't ask him anything. She gives him his space and tries to keep Clark from pushing him with questions.

Clark ... With a horror Ed is forced to admit to himself that he has started to avoid his son too. Sometimes he speaks with Clark as before. But suddenly, instead of rejoicing and laughing with him, he freezes in place as the unbidden memories of the other boys beat him inside. _You took the life of the same child ... no, two children... Thomas and Jackson... you took their laughter, their hopes and dreams, their future, their lives_... Abruptly, he turns around and away from his son, leaving him in dismay and disappointment.

This is another pain for Ed. He loves his son so much, and now to see Clark's hurt disappointed look is a real torture for him as it is for Sophie, who notices the growing tension between her husband and son.

His son… He is so much like his mother. He also tries but he still cannot understand everything. He is not yet able to tolerate, to wait, to forgive. There are no such things in the world of a teenager. He is offended, confused, and categorical. He loves his mother and ... he can't forgive his father for her tears.

That damn fish. That damn Nemo. The clown fish.

That day, Ed stopped in the flower shop to buy flowers for Sophie on her birthday. He knew that Sophie and Clark were preparing dinner. And, God knows, he was going to do everything possible not to spoil it for them this evening.

He chose her favorite flowers and went to the counter to pay but the movement of something orange-and-white behind the cashier girl made him freeze in place, stunned and breathless. A huge balloon, smiling clown fish swayed in the air, right in front of his face.

"Sir, would you like this balloon to go with your flowers?"

The sudden flashback was like a crushing punch to his stomach.

_Again, he is sitting__in the living room in the Jacksons sister's house, informing her of the death of her younger brother. The young woman is crying, hugging a stuffed orange and white plush fish. A fish, which that morning, Jackson had given to his niece, leaving it on the porch. His last gift._

Time stopped and all the air seemed to be sucked out of the store. His head becomes heavy, his blood pulsing in thuds in his throat and ears. His throat tightened and he cannot utter a sound. He cannot take his eyes off the terrible smiling fish in front of him.

"Sir? Are you okay? Sir?"

Saying nothing, elbowing the astonished buyers aside, he almost ran out of the store. He sat in his car for a long time, deep in thought, desperately trying to regain his composure. He couldn't go home. He couldn't bring all this back to Sophie and Clark. He was on the verge. His demons were tearing him to pieces.

He did what he always did in such cases. He returned to the Barn, took his rifle and went to the firing range.

_Shots __are fired__one by one. Mechanically, perfected by years of training ritual. Control the breathing. Control the heartbeat. __Focus on the target. __Clear the consciousness. Charge, shutter. Inhale. Exhale. Heart beat. Aim… Shoot… Reload…_

Then he just sat in the cafeteria, unaware of the time. Guilt sat heavily on his shoulders like a crow, digging its talons into his skin and shrouding him with its black wings.

When he finally felt as though he had gained back some level of control, he went home. Maybe he should not do this.

Clark was in the living room. He waited for him to speak. He began to ask something but Ed was too deep in his thoughts and did not hear him at first, not responding at once. Mistake...

"Your job! ... It's the only thing you care about! ... You don't care about us! ... Mom doesn't deserve this. I don't deserve this! I wish you hadn't come back at all!" The charges fall on him. And then ... "How many people have you neutralized today? How many have you killed?"

_Killed. KILLED, _repeated the crow on his shoulder_. _The crow's talons dug deeper into his flesh, reaching his heart. Its black wings closed his vision.

The darkness surrounded him.

And through the darkness... "Your hands are covered in blood! I hate you! You are a monster!"

Only darkness after this...

Suddenly, Sophie's pale face appears in front of him. Horror in her eyes. Her hands on his shoulders and she tries to come between him and Clark, trying to tear his hands from his son.

_God... Oh God..._ The realization of what he was doing hits him hard and he almost falls back, recoiling in horror. _Oh God, what have I done? What have I done!_

When, the next morning, Sophie announces her decision to live separately, he agrees. Could he blame her for wanting to leave now? For leaving now?

He saw she wanted him to stop her. Saw she awaits him to say I'd do whatever it took to make it better between us, but he couldn't. He is unworthy of her and Clark. He is dangerous for them. He should not be near them. He is a monster. So _... "Of course, Sophie. If you think it's best for you and Clark..."_

Silently, he packs his clothes and goes to the garage. With trembling hands, he quickly pulls out the contents of a small, tin, wall-mounted box. He rakes into a shoe box some newspaper clippings, some photos, his awards and other items. Artifacts. His memories, his sins, his pain, his burdens, his life. He pauses, looking at the faded old photo of smiling brown-eyed, dark-haired boy who never grew beyond his sixteen years...

The same day he rents the cheapest one-bedroom apartment he could find close to work. It's tiny. He does not care. At least now he's not afraid to scream at night. No one is around to hear him. No questions.

It's so quiet. So empty. Solitude.

The days go by..

He has reduced the group to exhaustion with hard intensive training. He toughens the criteria of shooting accuracy and barely restrains his anger if someone does not make enough clean shots. They must be perfect. Any possibility of a "tragic accident" should be eliminated.

His team members, they're good guys. They do not complain and they are obviously worried about him. They still take him up on the beer, offering him some distraction. Greg and Wordy, they ask him to talk to them, they want to help him. And, God, sometimes he wants so badly to tell somebody about everything.

But he cannot. Talk about it, release it all, it would mean making his nightmares real. It would mean that he is not able to handle it himself. That he has given up. So he remains silent.

"You're shutting us out, Eddie... You've built a wall around yourself," Greg says quietly to him after one of the shifts.

He frowns, not answering. Lately, pushing people away becomes as normal and as easy as breathing. But laid unsleeping that night in his tiny apartment, he thinks sadly on his friend's words. Maybe Greg is right and he has made a mistake and built a new wall in the wrong place. Maybe he really has isolated himself, staying alone in the dark, cornered, surrounded only by shadows and ghosts.

The days go by…

Almost every day and night Ed thinks about Danny. Is this how it will end for him? Will he one day also kneeled before images of his demons, sobbing? Begging for death?

No, no. He is not Danny. He will cope, he must, he will succeed. He just needs a little more time.

And yet, he's been thinking of death. Not suicidal. Never suicidal. But death.

He finds himself constantly dwelling on the idea of dying.

He spends hours counting the near misses and the many hits. By his calculations, he was way past nine. But then he wasn't a cat. Who knew how many lives Ed Lane, the human has? At what point would his account finally be over?

Oddly enough, he hadn't even been worried by such thoughts. After all, who wants to live forever? Not him.

The days go by…

…

He was lying looking at the new dawn outside. The pain in his shoulder and his ribs had almost gone.

Did he think about death yesterday, when he had gone into that room, facing the bullets? Yes, of course. Was he was looking for it? No, definitely not. Although, the idea that it would be fair to exchange his life for the lives of those hostages inside ... yes, honestly, it had occurred to him.

He wondered for a moment, if he confessed all this to Greg and the rest of the team, how quickly they would lock him up in a padded cell? He chuckled wearily.

Well, he must somehow endure his forced medical leave and then get back on duty. Of course, if Greg did not suspend him.

Greg… His loyal, faithful, understanding, compassionate, intelligent best friend. The epitome of empathy and sympathy. He will soon guess that it's not just because of the break up with Sophie.

_If ... If I try to tell him? Greg knows about what happened 15 years ago, there will not much to explain..._

But Greg is not only a friend. He is a sergeant, he is the boss. If Ed told him EVERYTHING, Greg would be obliged to suspend him. Send him for a psychological evaluation. And if that happens... The consequences are obvious. Suspension or dismissal.

If he loses his job... Now his work is the only place where the darkness recedes a bit, where his life has some sense. What remains? Nothing.

No, no, he will not talk to Greg. He can't.

Wordy? Suppose he tries to talk to him. But that would force him into a painful choice. Keep Ed's admissions a secret, as his friend. Or report to their boss that their team leader is not 100% fit for duty and should be suspended? What any officer should do. What Ed would have done. No, he will not put Wordy in that moral dilemma. He cannot let his own problems turn to problems for his friends. He has to deal with them by himself.

And yet, if the boss chooses to put him in the truck and the team given another leader, Ed will understand this. It will be true.

_God, help me, please... _

He closed his eyes and prayed for sleep that didn't end in a nightmare.

_Build a wall... Build a wall... Build a wall..._

tbc


	7. You left me no choice, office work only

**Chapter 7 **

_"You left me no choice, Ed."_

**3 days ago**

Ed entered the briefing room.

"Hey, boss. Did you miss me?" He greeted Greg, sitting there alone and put what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face. But there was no way to fool the perfect profiler in front of him. His smile faded when he got only frown in response. He sat down at the table.

"I've been cleared for light duty. Guess that you'll be happy to put me in the truck at last, ah?" he waited an answer but Greg still wasn't saying anything. Ed was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable under Greg's intense stare. Or it is not Greg but Sergeant Gregory Parker now?

Greg leaned back in his chair, hands folded on his chest. "I'm not even sure about the truck, Ed. Only office work at the moment. No offense, okay?" He intoned his words carefully and looked at Ed still without a hint of a smile.

At first, in a daze, Ed could not utter a word. Well, he was okay with the idea of being put in the truck but the office? It was over the top.

"Hey! Come on, are you serious? Is this a punishment? Are you gonna be angry with me forever?" He tried to keep his expression completely casual, trying to look relaxed and calm even though he was anything but that now. _That's it._ Greg was going to suspend him from duty. Temporary, he could only hope.

Greg did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, controlled. "I'm not angry with you, Eddie. Sam sided with you at the debriefing and you both managed to convince us that your acts were justified. But do you really think I'm going to buy that shit?"

Ed's eyebrows shot up. _Fair is fair_, he admitted, _he had given his friends a fright or two lately._ _The boss had every right to be angry now._

Greg went on, "Our conversation a few days ago, when you said that if I see your problems affecting your work... Now I have an official medical reason to keep you from active duty. But in any case, you would be sitting at a desk right now until I can be sure that one of my officers is not going to do something stupid. With his own life. Do I need to explain further, Ed?" Greg's voice had grown cold.

Ed's face darkened. Well, he had expected that the boss would continue to gnaw away at him for his actions three days ago. But THIS? "What? You think I'm suicidal?" He almost spat out the word. He began to feel the rage rising in him, "How could you even suggest such a thing?" he stared fiercely at sergeant.

Greg held his gaze calmly, without answering.

And suddenly Ed knew. Understanding dawned hot and bright. _Damn you, Spike! How could you! _ He barely resisted the urge to jump up and rush to the gym, where the other team members were at this moment. Including Spike.

But next moment all the rage left him, leaving only the fatigue and anguish instead. He hung his head and sighed. _Spike had done the right thing.__But Greg… How could he even think such a heinous lousy thing about me? Anyone but Greg! _

Greg had always believed in him. Trusted him. Never doubted him. Their friendship and faith in each other was probably the last thing that kept him grounded now. The last solid foundation he had after Sophie and Clark left him. If Greg ceased trusting in him_... _Well, it was really the end.

_What did you expect? You aspired to this for so long._ _Solitude...You've got this. Enjoy, _said a jeering voice inside his an effort he pulled himself together.

When he looked up again, his expression was almost completely deadpan. "Scarlatti. The little weasel must have snitched? He let slip about that Glock? Then, this," he waved toward his shoulder, "I see... But do you really think that I'm trying to kill myself?" he asked looking at Greg, still inwardly hoping that Greg's reply would be no, of course he had never thought so… He swallowed hard against the bitter lump in his throat.

But he got just a frown in response again.

"Great," Ed smirked a forced smile and got to his feet abruptly, "Well. Thank you for you trusting me. But you know what? Do what you want. Think what you want. I don't care. I've got stuff to do," he waved his hand and stepped roughly toward the door.

"Ed, stay!" Greg slapped his hand on the table. "We haven't finished yet," he said firmly, his own temper obviously rising.

Ed turned. "Is that an order?" he asked after a strained silence.

"No, it's still an invitation to a friend, mostly," Greg answered stiffly, "But I'll make it an order if you want. Sit down, now."

Ed returned to the table. "There's nothing to talk about, boss. I'm not suicidal," he said flatly with icy calm. His eyes were devoid of emotion.

Greg sighed, "Eddie... we both know that suicide does not always mean putting the muzzle of the gun to the head and pulling the trigger. If my best friend becomes indifferent to his own life... If he acts like he looking for a way to die... Tell me what, as your friend, am I supposed to do? "

"Friend?" Ed said skeptical, with a grim laugh.

There was an instant change on Greg's face. The gloomy severity of the sergeant had left, to be replaced by a confused, almost stunned expression.

"Of course a friend, Ed. Is there any reason for you to doubt it?" he asked hesitantly.

Ed looked at him. "If you are my friend, leave it at that. I beg you, Greg."

"Eddie ... you know what your friendship means to me but you must understand, I can't ..." Greg replied hoarsely.

Ed nodded slowly. "I do understand, Sergeant," he said and saw Greg winced, hearing again this distant cold "sergeant".

Someone from the team quickly looked into the briefing room but just as quickly retreated, apparently feeling the tension hanging in there.

"I am not looking for death, Greg," Ed finally broke the silence. "Damn it, you've been known me for almost twenty years ... How could you believe?" he said reproachfully, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Okay. Then what about the Glock?" Greg asked in a low voice.

Ed shrugged. Well, he could explain this.

"The call to the guy who threatened to kill himself that day, do you remember? His ex-wife wouldn't let him see his children. I just noticed some, well, similarities," Ed shrugged, "When Spike caught me with the Glock in my hand, I just was trying to understand what depth of despair someone would have to reach to want to do that? I looked at the Glock and asked myself if I had already reached my limit? No, I did not feel like this. I knew perfectly well that it wasn't loaded, boss…" Ed kept his gaze on the polished surface of the table not looking at Greg. "I was not going put it to my head even without bullets. I just was a little lost in thought. Nothing more… Then Spike came down upon me like a hell," Ed smiled faintly, "So. Don't worry, boss. It's not my way. "

Greg ran a hand over his face and stared at Ed almost aghast. "Eddie. It's enough that these thoughts even came into your mind," he added hoarsely, "Can you swear to me that you're not going to even think about this crap again?"

"I swear," Ed replied decisively, "Is that all?"

Greg looked at him thoughtfully. "No it's not. The hot call, three days ago. Can you swear that when you had decided to go inside all alone, you didn't think about exchanging your life for those hostages? That you didn't plan to sacrifice yourself? That it was not some kind of atonement?"

Ed frowned. That definitely hadn't been his plan. Well, the idea that the lives of several teens were more important than the life of one old constable had flickered somewhere on the periphery of his thoughts. That would have been fair if he... but no, he hadn't deliberately wished or planned for that.

Greg watched him intently, waiting for answer. "It means you've been thinking about it," he released a heavy sigh. "Crap..." He dropped his face into his hands.

Ed's head snapped up, "Wait, Greg. This was not about sacrifice or atonement. I swear to you. Isn't that enough for you?"

He waited, watching Greg pondered his decision.

"Eddie... I gave you the time and the trust that you asked for. As a friend," Parker finally said quietly. "But it hasn't helped. I can't take the risk. I just can't. If you continue to refuse the help you obviously need, I'll have to take a different course of action. Officially, as your boss, as a sergeant. Damn, maybe I should have done this a long time ago. I should have suspended you and made you take an appointment with the department psychoanalyst. Most likely as a result I would lose your friendship..." His voice cracked and he looked at Ed sincerely, "...but I'm not going to lose your life. No way." He shook his head violently. Then he went on, almost in a whisper, "Come on, buddy. Talk to me. What's going on with you?" he almost pleaded.

Ed wiped his hand over his bald head and closed his eyes._ Suspension. Psychological evaluation. _It was almost a death sentence at that point._ Maybe... Take this outstretched hand? Tell him ... someone ... everything? About the dark, about the shadows, about his victim's faces that follow him everywhere. Haunting him. Judging him. God ..._ _He couldn't... Not now_ ... He groaned before he could stop himself.

"Eddie?" He suddenly snapped out of his reverie only to focus on a pair of brown eyes, worry clearly emanating from them. "You okay?" Greg watched him carefully.

Ed nodded and turned his eyes away from his scrutiny. _I must deal with this myself._

With an effort, he forced himself to pull himself together. When he spoke again, there was no trace of emotion on his face. "I understand, Greg. If you have to act as sergeant, do it. I really do not care, I'm sorry," his voice was flat and emotionless but the truth was revealed in the way his hands were clenched, white-knuckled on the edge of the table.

Greg sighed. Even yelling would have been better than that quiet controlled voice.

"Then you leave me no choice," he said compassionately. Ed was silent. "I'm sorry, Ed. Office work only..."

Ed nodded, stood up and left the briefing room without a backward glance.


	8. Do I look like I need cheering up Wordy?

**Chapter 8 **

_"Do I look like I need cheering up, Wordy?"_

**2 days ago. **

Ed forced a smile and leaned back in his chair, looking at Wordy, who strolled into one of the HQ offices where Ed was sitting at the table, a huge pile of files cases in front of him.

The administrative department of HQ was never popular with the members of Team One and they all usually chose to fill in all the necessary documents at the station, in the briefing room, in the place they considered 'home'.

But right now Ed preferred the noisy fuss of the administrative floor, rather than being at the station next to his team or with the guys from other groups who were still on active duty. Unlike him.

Greg had suspended him. He'd taken the opportunity, all right. In the eyes of the others, it wasn't seen as a suspension. To them it was simply that Ed had not been cleared for active duty so he was stuck in the office. Paperwork. Documentation. No rumors. No problems. Peace and quiet. Team dynamics preserved. Everything is fine.

Yes, Greg is a good sergeant but it was strange that he was not the first one who came to see Ed at his new "workplace".

"Checking up on me?" Ed asked, his eyebrows lifting derisively.

Wordy entered and shook his head in protest. "No! No. I'm just, uh … being friendly."

Ed nodded. "Whatever you say," he agreed blandly.

"I'm allowed to be friendly," Wordy said in almost offended tone.

"Sure." Ed took another document and pretended to study it.

"I wouldn't even think of coming here just to check up on you," Wordy walked over to Ed's table and sat down facing him.

"Right," Ed replied briefly without taking his eyes off the paper file in front of him.

"So," Wordy said after a moment's pause, with his best innocent look. "How're you doing?"

Ed tried to smother a yawn. "Not checking up on me, huh?" he muttered, his lips twitching into the semblance of a smile.

Wordy grinned at him, "Seriously, though. You okay?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Ed raised his head, "Yeah. I'm bored out of my mind, but I'm okay."

"How's the shoulder?"

"It's fine. And before you ask, my ribs ..." he did not finish.

"They are fine. I got it. You holding up just fine," Wordy nodded.

Ed leaned back in the chair and grimaced. "Do I look like I need cheering up, Wordy?"

"I think so. Especially since the boss made you do office work." Wordy shrugged sympathetically and gestured to the stack of files on his desk. "You hate this, I know."

"Why? This is a cool job," Ed grinned widely. "There's paperwork for things we actually do, and paperwork for the paperwork, and paperwork to get a band-aid for the paper-cut you get from doing the paperwork ..." he trailed off and flashed a smile that was meant to be encouraging. "I'm starting to love it."

Wordy watched him silently.

Ed sighed and threw aside the paper he was trying to study. Hell, maybe Wordy's visit was not so bad. _Some distraction,_ he thought despondently and rubbed his nagging shoulder. Wordy noticed this.

"Still hurt?"

"Just itchy." Ed waved it off, looking suspiciously at the man sitting across from. "Look. The boss didn't send you over here to get me to talk?"

"To talk about what, Ed?"

"You know…" Ed shrugged his good shoulder. "Just… stuff, you know."

"Stuff. Funny," Wordy chuckled. "No, the boss did not send me here to talk about stuff."

Ed smiled slightly. _Well, maybe it's really just a friendly visit_. "Okay. Tell me what's happening in the real world. Anything interesting happen during my absence?"

"Nothing special, Ed. Just the usual calls, pretty mundane and without you there, they're terribly boring, my friend."

"I got it, okay. You don't want to tell me how much fun you're having without me. You want me to die of envy, uh?" Ed smirked. "How are Shelley and girls?"

"Okay. They okay," Wordy replied briefly, averting his eyes.

Ed's face darkened. "Look. Don't give me that crap," he snarled, before getting a rein on his temper again.

"Meaning?" Wordy stared at him, frowning slightly.

"You think I haven't noticed? You stopped talking about your family in my presence. No more stories about your girls. About Shelley. Previously, you would talk about them for hours. Since when did I become someone you got to walk on eggshells with? What has changed? "

"You know what's changed, Ed..." Wordy said, reluctantly.

"The fact that I broke up with Sophie is my problem. Don't do this to me. You're not helping."

Wordy rose his eyebrows up in surprise, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, all of you…" Ed pulled a face and flapping his hands like imaginary wings, "… hovering around me! All right, I appreciate it. But stop fussing. Stop hovering. It does not help and it's damned annoying."

"Is that why you escaped here?" Wordy grinned.

Ed rolled his eyes upwards. "Every second there is someone watching me like a hawk. You would want to escape too. "

"Good. Then act like you're not to forcing us to hover around you," Wordy replied calmly. The smile vanished from his face. "Okay. I did not come here only to check on you. Nobody sent me. But I really came to talk," Wordy eyed him gravely.

"Oh dear, explanation time!" Ed moaned, "Damn, I knew it! What do you want to talk about?" he said with annoyance. He crossed his arms over his chest in a classic defensive gesture that was immediately noticed by his friend.

Wordy frowned, "What the hell going on, Ed? Since when have you stopped trusting us? Your team? Is there a reason why we've lost your trust?"

Ed didn't answer, biting his lips, torn between having so much to tell and so much to hide.

Wordy shook his head in disappointment, "Ed ... You and Sophie ... It sucks, I know." He winced sympathetically. "I can't even imagine how hard it is for you, man. But you can't let it affect your work, your judgment, your decisions. Take a vacation. Go somewhere. Scream. Howl at the moon. Something. Anything. But learn to live with it. Millions of people get divorced and continue to live a normal life, Ed."

Ed chuckled. "Wordy, listen..." he began in a low voice.

"Stop, Ed. You listen to me now," Wordy stopped him. "That's enough. Enough to go crazy, you hear me? These two months... Look where this has got you," he gestured at the dull interior of a small office. "You almost got yourself dismissed. You almost got yourself killed. The Ed Lane I know would never have put someone's life at such stupid risk like that."

"I didn't put anyone's life at risk!" Ed's mouth was set in a stubborn line.

"I mean your own life here, Ed!" Wordy said with exasperation and paused. "You can't do this on your own," he added softly.

Ed straightened. "Don't tell me what I can or can't do!" he barked. "And thanks for the lecture, but I'm really fed up with talk and advice," his voice became edgy.

"You know what, Ed?" Wordy suddenly slapped the table. "I'm also fed up with all this. I am so sick of watching silently as you torture yourself. I've had it waiting for you to finally admit to yourself that you need help. And hell, I'm sick of the boss protecting you instead of..." he broke off, hesitating for a moment.

"Instead of what, Wordy?" Ed chuckled mirthlessly, "Instead of suspending me? Well, he did. The only thing that is a threat to me now is a papercut. Are you satisfied now?" he did not hide his irritation.

"No, I'm not, Ed," Wordy replied firmly. "The boss has asked us to leave you alone. I don't know why but I'm pretty sure leaving you alone now is the worst solution. I'm not in agreement with him. Therefore, Ed..." he paused and then frowned. "Hey? You listening to me?"

Ed just nodded, looking thoughtfully at his hands clasped on the table.

Wordy went on, "Okay… Listen, Shelley suggested that she meet with Sophie and talk to her. Ed... I'll give you the keys to our cabin on the lake. Go there alone with Sophie. Clark can stay with us. This will help, Ed. What do you say?" He looked at his friend hopefully.

But Ed remained silent.

Wordy paused before he spoke again. "You don't have to answer that now, just think about my offer, okay? And Ed… if there anything we can do for you, or get you, or..."

Ed scrubbed a hand across his face, hearing his friend. _ Learn to live with it ... God, he had been for fifteen years._ _Would__ a__vacation could change anything? __Bring back__to life kids he had killed, maybe?_ He chuckled. His irritation suddenly disappeared, to be replaced by a feeling of tired gloomy indifference. _Wordy seemed sure that the cabin on the lake would solve everything. That's funny. Okay... His friends only really wanted the best for him. They just didn't understand _... His expression softened a little.

"Wordy, thank you for the suggestion. But the boss is right. I can handle this. Just leave it at that," his voice was subdued, quiet.

Wordy chuckled ruefully. "Yeah? Then how about you look at me when you say it? "

No reaction.

"For a smart man, you're really not getting it, you know?" Wordy sighed heavily, "You're not the only one with feelings here, Ed."

"Meaning?" Ed asked, still not looking at his friend.

"I'm just saying that if you shut us out, refuse our help, put your life at risk without informing us, we see it like you don't trust us. If that shooter had been more lucky, Ed... If your insane plan had not worked..." Wordy shook his head, "Have you ever thought about what your death would mean for us? Knowing that you died because you don't trust us?"

"I trust you all, Wordy," Ed replied evenly.

"Listen to me, Ed." Wordy's voice rose higher again. "If you ever do something like that... Do you want us to live blaming ourselves? Wondering what we did that made you turn away from us? Why we didn't help you in time? It's not fair, buddy. Think about it," he stood up.

Ed sat in silence, his teeth clenched.

Wordy sighed heavily, "All right, Ed," he said almost softly,"Okay. I am ending this conversation. For now. A piece of advice. Grab your fascinating papers and come back to us. Suspended you or not, you're still part of the team. You're still our team leader and our friend. You have to be where you belong. And without you, it really is damned boring! " he smiled and headed for the door, "And don't roll your eyes at me!" he said without turning.


	9. Crunch time, Ed

**Chapter 9**

_"Crunch time, Ed."_

**The previous day**

Greg reread the text of the formal letter and put it down on the table. _What a mess..._ He scrubbed both hands over his face.

It was as though all the pieces of a puzzle had suddenly clicked together and made sense at last. But it opened a so grim picture that made Greg sick with worry and anxiety and fear for his friend.

Sighing, he took the paper, got up and went out to find his troubled team leader.

"Hey, Eddie," he greeted Ed Lane at the dispatch desk. "Briefing room," he waved. The non-requesting request was gentle but edged with steel.

Ed threw him a wary glance noticing the paper that Greg was holding in his hand and stiffened.

"Can it wait?" he asked, not budging. "I_'_m kinda busy now."

Greg gave Ed a long penetrating look, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the general air of exhaustion on his friend's haggard face. _Too busy to eat, Eddie? Too busy to sleep? Too busy to open up to your friends? You can't keep torturing yourself like this… God, why did I let it go so far? What the hell was I thinking? Enough._

"Ain't gonna work, Ed. Now. That's an order," Greg pushed and Ed capitulated with a resigned shrug.

Entering the briefing room, Greg closed the doors and the shutters. The upcoming conversation could potentially become tense. They needed privacy. He noticed the surprised and worried looks of other team members who remained outside. He would explain all to them later.

He sat down and handed Ed the paper file, silently watching his reaction.

Ed's jaw tightened and he paled noticeably as he glanced at the text. Immediately, he threw it away, as if it had burned his hands. Without looking at Greg, he rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.

Greg waited patiently, but Ed kept silent.

_Okay._ Greg sighed heavily. He wasn't sure where to start. So he decided to start with the most important.

"It was not your bullet, Eddie."

"How can you know that, Greg?" Ed's head jerked up, "The coroner's conclusion is formal. The bullet is so deformed that there is no possible way of identifying from whose weapon it came, not without additional expertise. All we know for sure is that it was a 9mm bullet from one of our Heckler & Koch MP5's. Not 0.45 mm from the shotgun revolver that was used by Sean Keenan."

"You sent a request for additional expert evaluation," it was not a question. Greg knew that Ed done that just after he got the coroner's conclusion a month ago. Just as he knew that Ed's request had been refused.

Ed gave a wry smile. "Yes, it was refused. Inexpedient. Case closed two months ago. Why spend money from the budget? Nobody is interested," he said, a hint of anger in his voice.

"Other than you there were five people with MP5s, Ed. FIVE people," Greg said softly. "Even if it was a bullet from your MP5... it was a ricochet. The conclusion clearly states that," he pointed to the paper in front of him. "It does not matter from whose barrel it specifically came, Ed. It was a tragic accident."

Ed's face darkened, "You don't understand, boss..."

"I do understand, actually," Greg countered. Then, after a short pause, he said, the main thing, "Eddie... That boy, Thomas. It's been many years. How long you gonna beat yourself up about this? It was not your..." he did not finish.

Ed went rigid. "Do not even go there," he said, and his voice was like a knife, unsheathing. He stood up, staring at Greg furiously.

Greg met his gaze evenly, "Eddie, sit down, please."

Ed remained standing. "Don't you dare!"

Greg could hear both rage and indignation but also despair in his friend's voice. He set his jaw. Sometimes he hated being the boss. "Sorry, buddy. I have to."

"Why, Greg? Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?" Ed blew up. "Picking at my healed scabs, is this helping yours?" he sank back in his chair.

"Healed? I don't think so," Greg said and shook his head.

Ed said nothing and Greg went on.

"This request for the examination of the bullet that killed Jackson... Tell me Ed. When you find out that the bullet didn't come from your weapon, will you feel better? Will you stop torturing yourself? Will you stop punishing yourself and the team for it? And hell, will you stop seeking redemption and attempting to destroy your life?"

"I'm not punishing anybody, Greg!" Ed replied firmly. His cold anger filled the room. "And I'm not looking for any crappy redemption. I'm not destroying anything!"

Greg took a deep breath. "Yeah? So what about your own life? You've shoved Sophie and Clark away. You're pushing away your team, your friends. You're blaming and torturing yourself. You sure you did not get enough punishment for the death of Hutton 15 years ago. And for Jackson's death two months ago. So now you're trying to punish yourself. You're stuck in it, Ed! But you do not want to admit it! " Greg frowned and leaned forward on his elbows, looking steadily upon Ed, "Tell me. What are you going to do if you find that this bullet came from your MP5? Are you going to go to Jackson's relatives asking them to accuse you of manslaughter? Or will you go to the SIU so that they have you officially recognized as guilty? Or will you eventually use your Glock?" he asked directly and firmly, watching his friend's face. The only reaction Greg received was a slight tightening of Ed's jaw. He might have missed it if he hadn't been looking for it.

"Answer me! Talk to me! Say something, goddamn it!" he burst out and slammed the table with his open palm.

"What? You think I'm crazy?" Ed said harshly, without looking at the sergeant.

Greg sighed. "Ed, it's just you and me here. Come on. Honestly and sincerely. I know you don't feel comfortable talking about this but if it has hurt you so damn badly, you need to get it out. I promise not to tell anyone what you..."

Ed cut him off, wincing in exasperation. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, Greg? How about putting the couch here and a box of Kleenex? Turn on some soft music and assign the reception hours to psychological counseling?" His mouth was set in a stubborn line again.

Greg gave no hint of a smile, watching his friend intently. Seeing that Ed was about to clam up he decided to change tack.

"You cannot hide behind sarcasm, Eddie," he said, his tone a mild rebuke, "Not this time. I swear, if you do not start talking right now, I am going to Holleran to request a provisional suspension for you. I am going put it all in the report and there will be a formal hearing. A psych assessment. There will be an evaluation regarding your continued presence on SRU. Is that what you want? All right. I am ready to accept losing you from SRU, but I will never accept your insane desire to sacrifice yourself because of one accident fifteen years ago. Come on. Start talking. Crunch time," he said forcefully, not taking his gaze from Ed.

The strained silence filled the room.

Greg could hardly bear the look of anguish in Ed's eyes but his own fear for his friend's life was stronger. He could see his friend's internal wrangling now and could only pray that common sense would finally win.

The minutes dragged on...

"Crunch time?" Ed spoke up and raised his head. The anger shifted out of his eyes displaced by something dark and hurt and haunted. "Fifteen years, Greg," he said, his voice almost faded to nothing. He shook his head, stared down at his hands clasped on the desk. "Fifteen years ... I really thought I'd handled it. I thought I'd blocked it out. Walled it up. It all collapsed a year ago. When I heard Jules' cry and my shot ... Since then, every time I look through a damn scope I see only this ... A kid run across. A spray of blood," he fell silence, gaze unfocused. He was staring into the past.

Greg listened in silence, praying no hot call would interrupt Ed.

"Fifteen years ago, I swore this would never happen again. But it did ... I did not kill that boy on First York Plaza but I killed another one. Was it a bullet from my MP5 or not ...you're right..." he bitterly chuckled. "It doesn't matter ... It was my call to wait and I was wrong. Jackson's death, his blood is on my hands," he clenched his hands into fists and fell silence.

Greg was just listening sympathetically, silently.

"Everybody is asking me to talk," Ed went on quietly. "Asking me to explain what's wrong with me. But how I can?" his eyes were cold and hard, filled with self-recrimination and guilt, "Sophie ... I didn't tell her anything 15 years ago so how can I explain all this mess now? How can I tell her that in my nightmares I see the boy that I killed and then our son in the blood? She's scared, it could only make things worse. Doing what I've done, seeing what I've seen… It has changed me into someone that will always be right out of her reach…" he shook his head with frustration, "How can I explain it all to Clark? He thinks I'm a monster, Greg! If I tell him ... I'll lose him completely," his voice broke but he took a deep breath and carried on. "How can I confess to you and the team that I'm not sure if I can take the shot again in a similar situation, that I'm afraid of hurting or killing another kid, accidentally caught in the firing line. This hot call ... The hostages were teens ... I went inside because I could not bear the responsibility for their deaths, too. You're right, Greg. No matter how I tried to resist, it has crept into my work," he released a sigh more like a groan. "I feel like I'm spinning around a black hole and I cannot escape from its gravity. But I do not want to fall into it, Greg. I don't want to," he whispered and closed his eyes.

Greg listened to Ed's painful confession; he felt speechless, numb and stunned. God, how could he not have guessed it before? It was right in front of him. He saw what a strange, almost shocked condition Ed was in after that shot on the roof of First York Plaza a year ago. He saw how hard Ed had taken that case with Danny, almost committed suicide because of the child, who was murdered years ago. He saw how desperately Ed had tried to save a dying Jackson. All the signs were in front of him. _What kind of psychologist did that make him, what kind of a friend, if he did not understand all this before? How could he have been so stupid as to not have seen it, to have not realized. How could he have allowed his friend to be alone with all this for so long?_ Guilt lined up for a turn at slapping Greg.

"Eddie ..." he began. "I can't even imagine what you have been through but what happened to Thomas Hutter and Jackson Barklife, I understand that it hurts you but you did not bring them there. Thomas made his own choice when he followed his brother into the gang. You can't tell me that he didn't know the risks. If you become a member of an armed street gang, you runthe risk of being killed in a shootout whether by another gang or the police. Jackson voluntarily chose to go into the house of a drug dealer, a murderer. You can't tell me that he was so naive that he did not realize that bastard would demand certain fees as a result. He knew the risks he was taking and he made his choice. They were not innocent children who casually appeared in the firing line. They put themselves at risk, Ed, not you! I understand how you feel about all this but ... but don't tell yourself that this is all your fault! Stop doing this to yourself, buddy ... please," he shook his head and fell silence.

Ed seemed pondering what he had heard. Then he looked up at Greg with his tormented eyes. "Greg. I'm really not going to do some stupid like committing suicide or sacrificing myself for no reason. I really do want to deal with all this. I want to get some sense of normality back into my life. I swear, the minute I can't handle it, I'm out of here. I know what a liability I'd be if I lost it," he sighed.

"Eddie," Greg began, but Ed interrupted him.

"Hold on, Greg ... I'm sorry if I've shut you out. I never meant to make you feel that I didn't trust you. You're right. It's really better for everyone if I do not work in the field right now. I'm fine with office work, Greg. Maybe I just need a break from the action. The group will cope without me. No one's indispensable."

"If you allow yourself one a single thought about leaving ... that's not going to happen, buddy. The team needs you back. You're not going anywhere." Greg shook his head. "Damn, I'm such an idiot." He rubbed his face, sighed and looked at Ed. "I really thought that the cause of your problems was your separation with Sophie. I should have figured it all out before. Okay, this is what we're going to do. When the doctors clear you for full duty, you'll still be team leader and my number one on any calls, except those where a child is involved. That's just until you are ready to work with these calls without taking it personally. Now at such calls a group will led by me or Wordy. "

Ed looked perplexed, he clearly did not expect such a decision from Greg. "Boss, wait, wait..." He raised his hand to stop him. "Thank you for your support and confidence, but ... you have to be objective."

"I know how to do my job, buddy," Greg chuckled.

"Stop. Listen," Ed said, "Firstly you get out of your head the idea about of feeling guilty because of me, okay? I swear that your decisions will not affect our friendship, ever. Now once again. Are you sure you can be that objective and professional right now? You are going to let me back to work in the field but is this the decision of Sergeant Parker or the decision of my friend?

"Sergeant or friend, it doesn't change anything." Greg shrugged. "I've made my decision and I'm sure about this, Eddie."

"Greg…"

Greg smiled softly, "But if you have any doubts then tomorrow at the end of our shift we'll think about it again, okay? My place or yours."

Ed nodded without making a comment.

"Ed. You should talk to a psychologist, Luria or someone else with whom you are comfortable. I know that talking to strangers about personal stuff is something you avoid like the plague but this is the right thing to do, Ed. Is that clear?"

Ed winced, obviously none too happy with the concept but then, reluctantly he nodded again.

"And I'm asking you to tell the team. This is not an order, Eddie but you ought to do it."

"Boss, stop please," Ed protested immediately, "Everyone in the team has enough to deal with. All of you. You don't need to share my burden ..."

Greg looked at him in amazement, "You're unbelievable, you know that? We are a team. This accident, this ricochet ... the team should know about it. What happened ... happened to all of us!"

"Greg, it's only me who is suffering from what is probably my bullet that killed Jackson." Ed frowned. "You want more people to blame themselves? I know what it is like to live with this and I won't let that happen to anyone else. It's my burden, Greg."

For a minute Greg pondered his words. Then he smiled. "This is our burden, Eddie. Hiding this is only going to make things more difficult for you and for all of us. Believe me, everything will be okay. We will cope with this but all together," Greg stood up, stretched out his hand, patted Ed on the back, went to the door and pressed the button to open it.

"Greg?" Ed quietly called him and Greg turned around. "Boss, now that we've sorted some of the questions will you let me at least sit in the truck? One more day with the documents and I think I'll go crazy."

"I promise I'll think about it, buddy," Greg chuckled, feeling incredibly relieved. A tricky situation neatly resolved. Yes, he should have acted before but thank God it's not too late. He saved his friendship with Ed. He saved the peace and stability in the team. He was going to have to talk to Sophie and try to explain everything to her. He will fix everything. They all will be okay.

He was feeling good about things.

And yet deep in his soul, he couldn't help a quiet feeling that he was leaving unfinished business behind.


	10. Stay connected!

**Chapter 10 **

(A/N: the hotel in this chapter is completely fictional!)

_"Stay connected!" _

**45 minutes ago **

Sergeant Greg Parker looked at his teammates peacefully seated around the table in the briefing room. He was relieved to see the tension and anxiety that had hung in the air lately had markedly decreased. Spike and Sam were talking about something, laughing loudly. Lou and Jules had their heads bowed close over the PDA screen and were smiling at some picture. And most importantly. Ed was smiling broadly as he listened to Wordy chatting about the latest antics of his girls, his expression unfocused and insouciant.

It seemed as though they made it through this crisis without losses, thank God.

A loud siren blared interrupting his thoughts.

"Hot call, Team One, gear up!"

"Winnie?" Greg quickly went to the dispatch desk. "What have we got?"

"We have received a bomb threat. 805 Dixon Road, Alexander Hotel," the dispatcher informed them, casting a quick glance towards Spike. "Reports indicate two bombs but we are waiting for confirmation of that information. The bombs haven't been discovered yet. Police are evacuating the building."

"God, what psycho wants to blow up a hotel?" Spike exclaimed in amazement, quickly heading to the armory cage. The rest of the group followed him.

"I'm waiting for information from CSIS, they are already involved in this case," Winnie added.

"CSIS? Well, that's interesting. Okay, Winnie, keep us informed on the fly," Greg said, turning to the armory cage seeing Ed coming out already fully equipped.

They exchanged glances.

"You're not cleared for full duty, Eddie," Greg spoke up hesitantly.

"Sounds like you gonna' everyone on this, Greg ... I'm fine, Boss. I can handle it," Ed replied calmly.

Greg looked at his watch. There was no time for hesitation. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, Boss," Ed grinned. "Don't worry, I won't let you down."

Greg looked at his friend for a second longer, then nodded. He made his decision. "Okay, Eddie, but command truck only. Come on, Team! Fast is good!" He waved his hand to others.

**30 minutes ago**

"Team One, new deal," Winnie's voice came through the radio in the SUV, "Boss, I've got Officer Williams of CSIS on the line; he will give you all the details."

"CSIS?" Seated next to Greg Ed looked at him, surprised.

"Obviously we are not dealing with a lone maniac. It's some organization if the intelligence agency and national security are involved," Greg frowned, not taking his eyes off the road and anxiously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Sergeant Parker?" A voice came over the radio. "Agent Timothy Williams, CSIS"

"Sergeant Gregory Parker, SRU." Greg announced. "We are all ears, Agent."

"We don't have much time so I'll be as brief as possible. CSIS recently received information about a new extremist group. About six months ago, they separated from a peaceful group of opponents of nuclear energy. They declared themselves ecological terrorists-"

"Hey!" Spike's voice interrupted him. "There's a conference on nuclear power starting today. This hotel is one of the venues for the conference!"

"Yes, that is their target. We found out that they were planning a terrorist attack during this conference. A week ago we organized a raid on all the branches of the group and managed to detain most of the participants but a few were able to escape. We managed to pick up their trail and we are currently preparing an operation to arrest them but half an hour ago we got additional information that two bombs had already been planted at the Alexander Hotel with the detonations set to coincide with the start of the conference. "

"Do you know the exact time?" Sam asked.

"The conference starts at 10 am."

Greg and Ed looked at their watches and exchanged glances.

"We're running low on time ..." Greg muttered with vexation.

"Yes, that's why we've come to you. We've contacted all divisions including the army but we have very little time and you are the closest. Police are conducting evacuation of participants and visitors to the hotel."

"Agent! Do you have any info on the bombs? Do you know what explosive they're using?" They could hear the concern in Spike's voice.

"Apparently, it's likely to be RDX ..."

"Oh shit ..." Spike gave a muffled curse.

"Spike?" Ed sounded worried.

"It's one of the most powerful high explosives. Nearly twice as powerful as TNT ..." replied their explosives expert. "Agent, what else is known about the bomb? Or bombs?"

"Yes, I have just received confirmation that there are two bombs. According to our information, there should be a total of almost 800lb of RDX," Williams informed them.

"What?" Spike exclaimed, dumbfounded.

"Spike? That's a lot, huh?" Wordy asked with obvious concern.

"Guys, this will destroy the building completely!"

"Yes. Maximum damage, that is what their leader admitted; their purpose is not just to attract attention or to scare but to shock. City, country, world ..." Williams said grimly.

"Where would they get so much RDX?" Sam asked.

"They stole a truck carrying nearly two tons of fertilizer. This was a signal for us to act."

"Wait. Why fertilizer?" They heard the surprise in Jules' voice.

The answer to that came immediately from Spike. "Ammonium nitrate. The most common fertilizer that farmers use. It's very easy to get hexamethylenetetramine from it, the raw material for the production of RDX. It won't be very clean, but ..."

"But capable of causing damage," Ed finished for him.

"A hell of a lot of damage!" Spike said. "And something else... this substance, RDX, if it is not clean from impurities, it is very sensitive to mechanical stress. But cleaning is difficult and expensive, so ... we have to be very careful, guys."

Greg frowned. "Got it, Spike. Agent Williams, is there anything else? We're almost on site."

"Nothing more, Sergeant. As soon as I have new information, I will inform you immediately."

"Okay. Keep us updated." Greg said, and increased speed.

**25 minutes**

The black SUVs of the SRU pulled up on a wide square in front of the hotel.

"We've almost finished evacuating the hotel and nearby buildings," the police head of operations greeted the group of SRU officers.

"Almost is the key word," Sam muttered, frowning as police continued to lead terrified civilians from the main entrance of the hotel.

A policeman shot an annoyed look towards Sam. "Sir. There are two wings on each of the eight floors, four meeting rooms, and underground parking. There are nearly 2000 people in the hotel itself and just as many have been evacuated from the area around the hotel and neighboring buildings. We had only 30 minutes! "

"It's all right, officer. Good job." Greg said in a reconciling tone. "Do we know if there are still people in the building?"

The officer sighed "There are my officers still searching the building. We have already done two passes and now we are checking for the third time. I'm confident there will be no one else left when we're done, "he answered wearily.

"Officer, what about the bombs? Your people haven't noticed any suspicious items?" Wordy anxiously looked at the building in front of them, knowing that they had too little time to scour such a large building.

"No. I didn't get any reports of suspicious items," said the officer. "Damn, is someone really going to blow all these people up? In the name of ecology?"

Greg sighed heavily. "It's a large blast in a public place. Such terrorist attacks almost always cause panic among the public. Panic provokes instability in society, affects the economy. That's how the terrorists work, it's their aim, it's got nothing to do with ecology. Okay. We have to find these bombs, guys," Parker turned to his men." Ed, you're on restricted duty, run command post. Wordy, you lead the group. "

Wordy nodded. "All right. Officer, we got to keep that perimeter wide. We need to move all the cars, move them all back. We need to vacate this area immediately, please! Some of these bastards could be somewhere near. What about mobile communications? Do we know if there is radio-detonator?"

"We blocked all mobile communication in this area immediately. The police channels in operate."

"Okay. Thank you, officer." Wordy turned to the group.

**23 minutes**

"Spike, what have we got?"

"Eight floors, one main entrance, two wings. Two large conference rooms in each wing on the ground floor. Restaurants. Storerooms. Underground parking in the right wing. Hotel's plan is already on your hand-helds," Spike kept his eyes on image on the screen of his PDA.

"Okay team," Wordy nodded, "We're splitting into Alpha and Bravo. Spike, Boss and I are Alpha, left wing. Sam, Jules, Lou, Bravo, right wing. We'll start from the ground floor, conference rooms, restaurants and rooms nearby. "

Spike raised his hand, calling all to attention, "Okay, guys, RDX is likely to be in the form of a white powder. Similar to the ordinary sugar. It could be in bags or packed in big boxes. Open all boxes, inspect any large containers, canisters, lockers but … be careful!"

"Okay, everyone, eyes and ears open. Let's get moving," Wordy waved to the group and they quickly went to the main entrance of the building.

"Stay connected," Ed, looking after them said in his radio, _And you be safe out there ..._

Then he entered the command truck.

**22 minutes **(Command truck)

"Winnie, I need to communicate with the head of security of the hotel," Ed called the SRU dispatcher.

"Ed, mobile phones in the area are blocked. I can try through the police channels, ask them to find him and to get in contact with you."

"Okay, Winnie."

He waited, his teeth clenched, listening intently to the radio communications of his team in the building. He didn't take his eyes from his watch, the hands inexorably approaching ten o'clock. What if they hadn't set the timer for ten exactly? What if it was set before? Heck, sitting in the SRU office with documents had been hard but sitting in the truck when his entire team, all of his friends were in the mined building, unable to help them, forced only watch and listen was a real torture for him. He definitely needed to return to active duty. No matter what he would have to do this. He would endure anything, any discussion, any psychologists, any therapy but he needed to return to duty; he had to muddle through it somehow.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath, drumming his fingers on the table. Suddenly, he was surprised to see that he was without his gloves. _Where __could he have left__them?_ He fumbled in his pockets distractedly, in vain. Special gloves with non-slip surfaces were useful while holding weapons and while driving; they protected his hands from cold and wind during the long wait in a sniper position. But today it is not necessary. _The loss of gloves is not a big problem for someone who is seated in the truck,_ he chuckled.

"Ed?" Winnie's voice crackled through the comm. "I have Chief of Security on the line for you."

"Thank you, Winnie." He heard the click of the communication channel switching. "Sir, Constable Ed Lane, SRU. Were there any recent deliveries to the hotel? Large bags? Boxes? Anything granular? Building materials? Anything like that?"

"Five days ago, there was the delivery of a new generator," came the fast response. "That's the largest delivery that we've had recently. We had the guys in from the electric company; they mounted the new generator in the technical basement. But this company has been working with us for several years; I know these people personally. They had their building materials but there was nothing unusual, I checked."

"What else has been delivered recently? Have you had anything repaired?" Ed nervously drummed his fingers on the table in front of him, waiting for an answer. _Anything? Any clue that could help his people inside the building?_

"Yes ..." The chief faltered for a second. "I don't know if this is relevant ... but two days ago, one of our vending machines broke down. The guys arrived from servicing and said that the problem was serious; they took it away for repair. They examined the other machines and took another one for preventative measures, they said. Yesterday they brought them back, but they have not yet been connected. They said that..." he did not finish, as Ed interrupted him.

"Boss, guys you hear that?" he called out his team.

"Copy that, Ed," several voices chimed in unison.

"So. The two vending machines. Our two bombs. Good job, Eddie," he heard Greg's satisfied voice.

"Chief, where are these machines positioned? One in each wing?" Ed asked.

"Exactly. Damn, I should have guessed! It's obvious!" exclaimed the man, "They put them temporarily in the service spaces near the conference rooms. Today they were going to move them into the halls ..."

"Guys?"

**20 minutes **

"Utility rooms near the meeting rooms. Checking," Wordy confirmed.

"Bravo team?"

"Got it, Ed," came Sam's reply interrupted by his heavy breathing and the sounds of running footsteps.

Ed released a small sigh of relief - at least now they knew what to search for.

**18 minutes **

"Bingo."

Spike was standing before a typical large vending machine with a red and white sticker reading "out of service" on its facade.

He approached it cautiously, pulling a portable scanner out of his backpack. For several long seconds, he stared at the screen, frowning and muttering something to himself.

Wordy and Greg waited tensely, standing next to him, involuntarily casting glances at their watches.

Spike nodded affirmatively. "Okay, guys. We have to pull it away from the wall, very carefully," he put the scanner to one side and stretched out his hands, intending to start moving the vending machine.

"Wait, wait!" Wordy stepped closer and grabbed his shoulder, stopping his movement, "What if there are movement detectors?"

"Well, they set it against the wall, somehow?" Spike shrugged, grinning slightly.

"Spike, are you kidding?" Greg and Wordy exclaimed in unison.

Spike shrugged, "Come on! I'm sure there is no protection against movement!" mild irritation and impatience were mixed in his voice.

Cautiously, they moved the big machine from the wall and Spike closely examined its back surface.

"Yes, obviously the back cover was recently taken off. And they were doing it in a hurry. There are fresh tracks on all bolts. Come on, guys, we need to remove it quickly."

They started to unscrew the bolts holding the rear panel.

**16 minutes**

"Bravo Group, Sam? Have found it?" Ed queried worriedly.

"Not yet, Ed. Lou, check that room!" Sam replied, his breathing ragged from running.

"It's probably near one of the load-bearing walls, so the effect of the explosion would more powerful," cut in Spike's sharp voice. "Listen, Sam, when you find it, you'll have to unscrew the back cover. Move it extremely carefully. When this material is in the form of a powder, it may be not stable and we do not know the type of detonator that they used," Spike started on the last bolt holding the cover.

Ed didn't tore his eyes from his watches, "Sam?"

**15 minutes**

"Wait ... Yes, there is! We've got it! Vending machine, out of service. We're moving it away from the wall."

"Finally!" They heard Spike's sigh of relief. "We've got the back panel off. So... hello, hello, hello... What have we here?"

They slowly and carefully removed the back cover, checking for any wires coming from the panel. They weren't any but what they saw inside made them freeze for a moment.

The entire inner space of the machine was filled with densely packed gray bags filled with some bulk material**.** All the bags were tightly linked and braided with webs of wires. They all converged at one point in the bottom of the machine - to the small device with red digits on it.

Spike sat back on his heels, surveying the task before him.

"Spike?" Wordy asked hoarsely.

"13.48" Ed heard Spike's answer and knew immediately what it meant. Automatically, he set the minutes and seconds on the countdown timer on his watches. He activated it, glumly watching the seconds run back ...

"Well, we have 13 minutes, even more. Just great..." Spike muttered. "Nice work, highly professional... although I get the impression that whoever did this had to hurry. It seems that there should have been additional protection but for some reason it was not installed ..." Carefully, he examined the detonator without touching it, "The chain is duplicated, an electronic detonator on a timer with multiple phase signaling and intermediate detonator."

"Sounds not so good," said Greg tensely.

"Well, everything is standard. Now... " He grabbed his backpack. Digging in it, he took the necessary tools and returned to the bomb with wire cutters in his hand.

"Don't hurry, Spike. Just don't hurry," Wordy anxiously watched the actions of his teammate.

"Bravo, how are you doing there?" Standing to one side, Greg called the second group.

"Just removing the back cover, boss," Lou replied quickly.

"Got it. Spike?"

"All right. Simply need to act successively. It will be enough to cut all of these contacts. White at first, and then -"

"Wait, wait! How about electronic countermeasures?"

"Maybe with an EMP," Spike shrugged, "But no guarantees. And there's no way I can get one here in time. So the only way to disarm it is old-school, pliers and cutters."

"You mean that it is necessary to cut ALL these wires?" Wordy interrupted him anxiously looking at the thick tangle wires in front of him, "Isn't there a one special wire that will shut it all down at once?"

Spike snorted, "You want to make it like in the movies?" He raised his head and looked at Wordy with a smile. "Yes, I need to cut all the wires in a definite sequence."

"Hell, there are a lot. You sure there's enough time?" Greg frowned in consternation.

"Absolutely. I can handle. You can go, guys," Spike said quietly.

"What?! Forget it!" Greg and Wordy exclaimed simultaneously, "We'll do it together, it will be faster!"

Spike stood up and gave them almost an annoyed look. "Stop. You know the rules, guys. One man down range."

"Greg, Wordy. Spike's right. Get out of there," Ed, who had remained silent before and had just been listening intently, broke into the conversation.

Greg and Wordy still did not make a move to leave.

"Listen, I'll have this detonator out after about 3 minutes, if I start now! Go!" Spike almost cried, "I can't begin to work with the bomb while you are here!"

Greg sighed, nodded and gripped Spike's shoulder, "Okay, Spike. Just stay connected. Ed! Wordy and I are leaving," and they ran towards the exit.

"Copy that" Ed said. "Bravo team report."

"We have removed the back cover, Ed!" They heard Jules' voice over their headsets. "Spike, what's next?"

"Excellent. So, do you see bags, Sam?" He addressed only Sam now, who as a former member of JTF2 was obviously more experienced in handling explosives than Lou and Jules.

"Yes, a lot," Sam replied briefly.

"Okay. And wires?"

"Yes, a lot," there was obvious tension to Sam's voice.

"So, it's okay. Just do not touch black and red wires yet! Begin to cut all the white wires! What's on your timer, Sam?"

"Spike, it seems we have a problem..." Sam said in disappointment. "I don't see a timer nor I do not see any other detonators."

**12 minutes**

Ed felt a sudden jolt of fear. Something had gone wrong.

He could no longer stand sitting in the damn truck away from the clicking triggers and ticking numbers. Safe in a street surrounded by sentries of squad cars. Just listening and taking the record of team's negotiations.

He stepped outside, looking intently at the building before him.

"Damn!" he heard as Spike swore. "Jules, Lou, both of you immediately get out there! Sam will cope! Sam! Describe to me what you see! Just do not touch anything! Damn, I have to be near the second bomb, not you!"

"Calm down Spike, just calm down," Ed immediately chimed in, hearing the excitement and worry in Spike's voice and his heavy breathing. Now, working with a one live bomb and remotely with another Spike needed to be completely calm and focused.

"Bags, fastened together with ropes and yes, the wires," Sam replied, "Wires goes backward... I can't see... Spike, I think the detonator could be hidden behind these bags ... Wait ... I have to remove one bag. "

Spike immediately responded, "Sam, wait. Don't! Touch! Anything! You hear me? Your bomb is different. There may be some other type of detonator. If that bag holds the trigger, when you take it off ... Listen! I'm almost finished with this bomb. I'll be there soon. I'll handle it myself. Just don't touch anything!"

"I know, Spike," Sam responded with a bit irritated tone. Ed almost could picture him rolling his eyes at Spike's words and understood the reason for it. Of course, Sam was an experienced soldier and he didn't need to be reminded how to deal with a live bomb. Of course he would be extremely cautious. " I'm sure it can be safely removed."

"Damn, you can't be sure of that, Sam!" Spike barked, "Boss, tell him not to touch anything!"

"Sam," Parker's strained voice came into their headsets, "Wait a second, okay? Lou, Jules, get out of here. Is that clear? Report!"

"Got it, boss. We're on our way out, "Jules and Lou replied, without arguing.

"Sam, are you sure you can safely remove the top bag?" asked Parker.

"I'm sure," came a quick confident Sam's response.

"Good. Do it."

"Boss!" they heard furious Spike's exclamation, "It's not right!"

The main entrance door opened and Ed saw two figures, running across the square. Greg and Wordy.

"Spike, calm down. You know that Sam is familiar with this crap. He can handle it," Ed said in his headset, "Just focus on your task. Okay buddy?"

**10 minutes 25 seconds **

Greg and Wordy ran up to the truck and stopped near Ed.

"Spike report!" Greg's voice was still a little panting from recent rapid running.

"I've finished. Bomb defused. Sam, I'm coming for you. Hang in there," Spike's labored breathing filled their comms.

They were standing in tense expectation.

**10 minutes 10 seconds**

Suddenly, there were some movement and shouts in the far end of the square.

"Damn, now what?" Greg said with obvious anxiety and quickly switched over to police channel, "Parker, SRU. What the hell is going on?"

"SRU, we've got a breakthrough on the perimeter! One civilian came through the perimeter! He's running toward the underground parking gates!"

"Okay. We're on it, "Parker glanced at Wordy and he, nodding his head, rushed to the building.

"Greg, he needs back-up, this might be one of those bastards," Ed pulled out his Glock from the hip holster and almost ran after Wordy when Greg suddenly grabbed his arm.

"No Eddie, you are not going anywhere. I'll cover him, you stay in the truck!"

Spike's sharp voice came in their headsets, "Sam, have you removed that bag? Talk to me! Do you see the damn detonator or not?"

"You hear him boss?" Ed said quietly, covering the microphone with his hand, "Spike is nervous. You must stay here. You need to be with Spike and Sam now. No time to argue, Greg! Wordy and me, we'll be on the third channel. Come on."

One brief moment they looked into each others eyes. Greg desperately did not want to do this. Inside him, his instincts were screaming against this, but ... Ed was right. No time to argue. He forced himself to unclench his fingers and let go of Ed's arm.

"Okay, Eddie. Stay connected ..."

Ed smiled with a corner of his mouth, nodded and darted toward the right wing of the building, catching up with Wordy. Greg looked after them as they both disappeared into the yawning darkness of the open gates of the underground parking.

**9****minutes****35 seconds**

Standing alone near the command truck Greg looked at his watch again. _Less than 10 minutes. And all his team still in this damn hotel!_ He tore off his cap and wiped his forehead. It was spring and the air was still cold, but he could feel the sweat running down his back and neck. He stared at the building. Finally, Lou and Jules emerged from the main entrance and Greg allowed himself a small sigh of relief. The two of the team are safe.

"Spike?" Sam's voice sounded tense. "I've removed one bag ..." Something in his tone made Greg frown.

"You see the detonator, Sam?" he asked. There was a pause and Greg was almost ready to repeat the question when the answer finally came.

"Yeah, guys, I see it. But... Shit..." Sam suddenly gave a strangled curse.

"Sam, report!" Greg turned chill with horror. _Four of his men inside _... He saw Jules and Lou suddenly stop in the middle of the square, apparently also hearing Sam's curse.

"Sam!" Spike barked.

"Sam! What's on the timer?" Jules's voice cut in right after Spike's cry, she did not even try to hide her fear.

"9.20. But guys... it's protected. Spike, I can see obvious countermeasures. And I'm not sure it can be removed, quickly," Sam said, dejectedly.

"Okay, Sam, I got it. You just..." Spike said between gasps of air.

"I know Spike. Don't touch. Just wait for you," Sam said grimly.


	11. Somebody's here, boss!

_Chapter 11. _

_"Somebody's here, boss!" _

**8 minutes 55 seconds before the explosion** (near the Command Truck)

Greg looked anxiously at his watch. _Countermeasures?! Damn it!_ he cursed under his breath, mounting fear for his teammates safety. _How long would it take? Would there be enough time to disconnect the detonator? What if something goes wrong, would there be enough time to pull out Spike out of there? Almost his entire team is in jeopardy_... He clenched his jaws, forcing himself to concentrate. _Focus, Parker! Focus!_ he berated himself, _There is still time_. He had to warn Ed and Wordy.

He took a deep breath to maintain his composure and temporarily switched over to channel three.

"Ed, Wordy. Sam has found some form of countermeasures on the second bomb. Spike is going there to find out if it can be removed. So there is 8 minutes 50 seconds until possible explosion." There was no need to give more explanation, everything was obvious.

"Copy that, boss," came the short synchronized responses and immediately after that "Police! Stay where you are! Get your hands on your head, fingers interlaced, now! Hands on your head!"

Greg listened intently to the sounds in his headset. Somebody's imploring mumbling… And after that Ed's firm confident voice, "Boss, subject contained."

Greg exhaled with relief. "Good job. Now get out there." _Thank God_. _That meant__ that Ed and Wordy would soon be safe._ _Now Sam and Spike_...

He turned his radio back to the second channel.

Breathing heavily, Lou and Jules ran up to the truck, expressions alarmed.

"Lou," Greg looked at his young teammate, "You switch to channel three, stay with Ed and Wordy. Jules, you and I, we will be with Sam and Spike on two," he ordered, immediately returning his attention to the members of his team in the mined building, "Sam, Spike? Talk to me."

**8 minutes 30 seconds **(the right wing)

Spike ran around the corner of the corridor and came face to face with Sam.

"Boss, I'm at the second bomb. Sam! That's all, go away!" Spike snapped, without looking at his teammate, almost throwing his backpack with tools on the floor. His whole attention has been focused on the back part of vending machine, on the densely packed gray bags, braided with wires. And on a device at the deep of the big machine. He licked his lips, feeling the salty taste on his upper lip and wiped the sweat off his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Listen ... I do can help, Spike," Sam, who having furiously banished Jules and Lou minutes ago now hesitated, "I have enough experience to-"

"Sam, hell! I'll handle!" Spike barked at him, turning abruptly, "I just ... I just need to focus, you're distracting me!"

Sam nodded, stepping back silently.

"Spike, I need you to keep calm and focused, all right?" The sergeant's voice in their radio was smooth and quiet. "If anyone can do this, you can. But you have to be calm now, you hear me? Sam, one man down range. Get out of there. That's an order. Spike will cope."

**8 minutes 25 seconds** (underground parking)

"Officers! O, thanks God! I... I need your help!" The middle-aged man in blue overalls of the Electricity Company with his hands raised stepped towards two SRU's officers. "I'm an electrician," he lowered one hand, pointing to the mark on his branded jacket.

Ed kept the man at gunpoint, "Hold your hands up!"

Wordy stepped closer and quickly searched the man.

"He's clean," he said and took off the plastic handcuffs from his belt, intending to put them on the detainee.

Instantly, he man shook his head in horror, taking a step backwards. He held out his hands in front of him, both protective and pleading. "No, no! Wait! You do not understand! I'm not a criminal! They are my people, three man, they are in the technical basement! We were installing a new generator... They are still there!" he said quickly, haltingly, his eyes darting between two officers in front of him, "God, if necessary, you can arrest me afterwards but I'm begging you, let me find them! My son's with them! "

"What?" Ed and Wordy exchanged shocked glances.

**8 minutes 20 seconds** (the right wing)

Sam frowned at Parker's order to leave Spike to work with the bomb alone. He hated moments like this. Yes, he was not a professional Bomb Technician as Spike was. Yet, as a former JTF2 Sam really was perfectly trained to work with explosives. But Sam was also highly trained to follow orders. If the boss took this decision and gave such an order, it meant there was a good reason for it, he knew. So, he gritted his teeth, pushing his emotions aside.

"Yes, sir. I'm on my way out ..." he replied over the radio, frowning at Spike who was again turned to the bomb, "Be careful buddy, okay?" Sam slapped his friend lightly on the shoulder before leaving.

Spike nodded, totally focused on the task. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to stabilize his breathing and heartbeat. He should be totally cool now. For a moment he closed his eyes.

"Spike, talk to me!" suddenly he heard the calm confident voice of his boss in his headset. "I'm not going to bother you. I know you can do it. But I need to hear that you're all right. Just talk out loud. Please, just talk to me, un mio amico... "

Spike smiled involuntarily, hearing this last phrase. He felt that all the tension gone, leaving instead just a calm concentration. He had the work to do. The sergeant was relying upon him. He opened his eyes, face set with grim determination. He could really start to work with the bomb now.

"Boss. I'm okay. I'm going to begin work on the protection..."

**8 minutes 15 seconds** (underground parking)

Wordy gave a little nod, face concerned, "Okay, sir, you can put your hands down. Are you sure that your people are still in the building?"

The pale man lowered his hands and nodded quickly, "Three of my guys were in there," he gestured towards the back part of the parking, "That's technical premises, a basement. It's noisy in there, compressors, fans, generators! We always use ear protection while working there! They probably wouldn't have been able to hear the alarm. I heard on the radio about what's going but mobile communications are not working! I couldn't contact them! I came as fast as I could but couldn't find them outside! I've looked everywhere, asked everyone but no one has seen them! I just wanted to come down here, check on them. Just wanted to make sure they were safely out but the police would not let me in! Guys, I'm sure they're still in there, I have to find them!" he shouted, "Stan's in there!" his voice broke and clutched his head in his hands, "God, we're wasting time, don't you see!", it was obvious that the man was now almost on the verge of panic.

"Stan is your son?" Ed asked in a low voice.

"Yes. My only child," the man gazed despairingly into Ed's eyes. "Please. He's only 19! He works with my guys sometimes, helps a little. If you have children too... Please! You must let me go! I'm begging you, sir," the man pleaded and took a step back, trying to escape.

Wordy immediately grabbed his shoulder. "Sir, if your people are in here, we'll find them. Lou, did you hear?" he said in his headset, "We supposedly have three civilians in a dangerous area. We have to check it out. We need a civilian escort for the guy, ASAP. We are in the parking space near the entrance."

"Understood, Wordy. UNIs are coming to you," came Lou's response.

Ed gave the detainee a sympathetic glance. The man's shoulders slumped, his face contorted with grief.

"Sir, do you know where Stan could be?" Ed asked.

Wordy looked at him, frowning. Ed was asking only about the young man despite the fact that there may be two other people present and he found himself feeling uneasy. _If Ed was taking it personally, it could be a problem..._

"There's a metal door at the back of the parking lot, that side," the man pointed, "There's a corridor, a lot of rooms ... But they would be in the compressor room, it's roughly in the center. I can show you, it will be faster!" He looked at the officers before him, his eyes imploring.

"I'm sorry sir, I can't allow that. You have to leave the building. An officer will escort you out of here. We will check everything, I promise," Wordy handed the man over to the UNIs which ran up at this point and turned to Ed, who was grimly studying the image on the screen of his PDA.

"According to the plan, it's only one corridor, which makes a few turns. At the center is the compressor room. Lots of utility rooms, store rooms, maintenance rooms ..." Ed said with a frown.

"One corridor is good. No chance to get lost," Wordy glanced at his watch, "So, we have eight minutes."

"A little less," said Ed. "Let's go."

Wordy nodded. "This means 4 minutes on searching and 3 on the way out. And Ed?"

Ed glanced over his shoulder impatiently.

"Don't let it get personal, okay?" Wordy said quietly, looking closely at his friend.

"We're running out the time, Wordy," Ed cut him off stiffly and turned away. "Lou, we're going to the technical basement."

"Copy that Ed."

**7 minutes 30 seconds** (technical basement)

They found the door and entered the wide corridor illuminated with bright white light from the large ceiling lamps. The numerous pipes, bundles of wires and lines of communication ran along the walls. As soon as they entered they heard the noise from the machinery somewhere ahead and headed rapidly towards the source of the sound.

As they approached they could hear another noise, the sound of someone's presence.

They hurried their pace.

The corridor opened into a wide hall, filled with a variety of equipment and machines. Two men in identical blue overalls, using a circular saw, were dismantling the large machinery. The screeching from the saw and the sparks flying in all directions obviously did not bother the workers. Helmets and masks covered their heads and faces. Large protective headphones tightly covered their ears, effectively isolating them from any sounds. Yes, there was no chance that these people could hear the warning.

Noticing their presence, the two workers cut the circular-saw and stared at the approaching armed police officers.

"Lou, we have found two people," Ed informed as he quickly looked around area in search of the third guy who was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey! Guys!" Wordy stepped toward the electricians and gestured them to take off the headphones, "This is an evacuation, we have a bomb threat. You have to leave! Immediately!" He had to shout to make himself heard over the noise of the nearby large compressors.

"Bomb?" exclaimed one of workers, almost dropping his tools on the floor. He looked around with a hunted look and pulled the collar of his overalls from his neck as if he started to choke. "Bomb?" he repeated hoarsely. "Oh, God, terrorists?! We all gonna die... No, no ..." he suddenly turned pale, pressing his hand to his chest as he swayed.

"Alex?" his colleague grabbed him by the shoulders, "What's wrong? Is he having a heart attack?" he looked fearfully at Wordy who hurried to them.

"It's all right, sir. Nobody's gonna die. We have enough time to get out of here, do you hear? It's just a panic attack, he'll be fine," Wordy tried to calm the panicked man and his friend.

Together, they took the weakened man under the arms, supporting him and headed toward the exit, "Lou, we're coming out, we have two civilians, one of them appears to be having heart problems, get EMS on standby just in case," he said in his headset.

Ed suddenly stood in their way, "Stop. Where's the boy? Where's Stan?"

"He ... he was around ..." the second man looked perplexed at Ed, "He said he was going to check the backup generator, there," he gestured down the hall, "But I did not see him go! Maybe he left already? I... God, I don't know. We were working, I wasn't watching him! "

"Okay. Wordy, take them out of here. I'm staying," Ed turned, but Wordy's sharp voice stopped him.

"Ed, stop! We're leaving all together, now!"

Ed ignored him, turning to the workers. "Guys can we stop this noise?" he winced.

"The control panel, on that wall," the electrician pointed, "Turn off tumblers for the central generator and the compressors."

**6 minutes 55 seconds **(near the Command truck)

Standing safely behind their SUV's, as required by the protocol, Lou was listening intently. He didn't like this situation one bit. They'd found two civilians which was great but where was the third person? If Ed stayed to look for him... The risk that he was taking was enormous.

_Damn, __should I inform__ Sergeant about it right now or not yet?_

Nervously biting his lips, Lou glanced at Greg. The boss was standing in the distance, his eyes focused on the building. He was speaking quietly into his headset. The sergeant did not know about the situation in the basement. All this time he was speaking with Spike, helping him, maintaining contact with him as he worked on the live bomb. It wasn't a good time for the boss to be distracted by another task, Lou decided. There was too much at stake. Ultimately, their main problem was the bomb. He made his decision and returned all his attention to Wordy and Ed.

**6 minutes 50 seconds** (technical basement)

Ed clicked a few tumblers on the control panel. The generators stopped and the basement suddenly became very quiet. The ceiling lamps flickered and went out and their bright white light was replaced by an alarming set of red emergency lights.

"Hurry, hurry, I beg you... I gotta get out of here..." came the quiet sobs of panicked man. He almost hung between his friend and Wordy.

"Wordy, get them out of here now!" Ed glanced at his watch, slipping into full team leader mode, "Move!" his tone has become commanding.

Wordy clenched his teeth. "No Ed. Stop. We are going out all together! Now!"

Ed stepped closer and, looking into his friend's eyes, said very gently and calmly, "Sorry, buddy. You're leader now. But I need you to listen; if there's a chance that this kid is still in here somewhere, we can't ignore it, you know this. We have to check. I have time. Everything will be fine, trust me."

"Ed, stop! We don't even know if he's still here!" Wordy shook his head wildly.

"We have to check, Wordy. It'll only take a couple of minutes," Ed smiled and waved his hand. He turned and ran down the dark hallway.

Wordy only swore softly, looking after him.

"Lou," he called his teammate over headset, "Civilians secure. We are on route to the exit. Ed's looking for third person."

"Copy that, Wordy."

Wordy never ceased swearing under his breath all the way to the exit of the technical basement. Everything inside him protested against Ed's decisionto stay and look for the third person.

But there was nothing he could do to change it. He had to get the two civilians out of the danger zone and they had to check out the information that that young man might still be in the basement. And yet ... an anxious feeling settled at the pit of his stomach when he recalled how obviously personally Ed was taking it all.

Wordy had known his friend for almost 20 years and knew that Ed Lane was not a man governed by emotions. He was not a person to take unnecessary risks or who panicked. He was always rational, determined, and most of all, sane. The man he had just left behind seemed the farthest thing from sane, he was almost obsessed.

He set his jaw.

_Damn! I __should have ordered__ him out of here with these workers. I __should have stayed__ to look for this guy! I should not have left him behind all alone! Mistake… Spike, come on, buddy! Do not let my mistake be fatal ..._

"Lou? How is Spike? Has he managed to remove the countermeasures?" he asked, casting a worried look at his watch and quickening the pace as he and two workers headed for the exit.

"He is working on it, Wordy," came Lou's quick response. "The bomb is still active. We're running out the time so you gotta hurry, guys. Ed?" he called, "Any sign of third guy?"

Wordy listened intently but there was no answer.

"Ed? Respond me," Lou repeated the call.

They waited again.

"ED!" Lou's voice rose from the cautious quiet tone to full blown worry.

"Not yet," finally they heard Ed's succinct answer.

**6 minutes 20 seconds** (near the Command truck)

"Lou? What's happened?" Parker quickly approached. He, Jules and Sam who has just run up to the truck, heard Lou's loud and concerned voice. Frowning, Greg turned his radio to the third channel. "Ed, Wordy? What the hell are you still doing in there? Get out immediately!" the barked order revealed his inner tension.

Lou started trying to explain, "Boss, they've found two workers in the basement. Wordy's bringing them out now but they have information that there may be a third person. Ed is looking for the boy now ..." he did not finish as the Sergeant interrupted him, staring at Lou in horror.

"What did you say? Boy?!" Greg froze. His mouth suddenly went dry and his voice cracked. "What boy?! Where did he come from?"

Lou stiffened under intense stare of Sergeant. "He's the 19 years old son of the civilian that came through the perimeter. Ed suggests that he's still there…"

"Any confirmation?" Greg asked in a stern voice.

Lou shook his head silently.

Greg bit back a curse. "Why didn't you inform me before!" he chided.

"You were talking with Spike. I didn't want distract you," Lou said hesitantly, "Everything was under control, " he paused.

_Oh no, no, no..._ Greg felt a growing despair, torn between the necessity of being simultaneously with two teammates who were now inside the building. He quickly changed channel and waved his hand, motioning Sam to come closer.

"Spike, buddy. I need to talk on another channel but Sam will be with you. Are you okay with this?"

"I'm all right, boss," Spike answered shortly, thankfully without questions. The last thing Greg wanted now was for Spike to start worrying about people, especially Ed, still being in the building while he was working with a live bomb**,** ... _God, why had this to be a boy! Why now?_ Greg gritted his teeth. _Stop. Focus_. He could not allow the situation to spiral out of control.

Hell, he knew he should not have let Ed go into the building! He always believed his intuition but he had ignored it. And here was the result. But who was he trying to deceive? It was not intuition. It was the pragmatic voice of reason, the voice of Sergeant Gregory Parker, who from the beginning was screaming inside him, jumping up and down, waving its hands to attract his attention. _Ed is not fine!_ the inner voice yelled_, Ed is not ready to go on a hot call! Ed doesn't have to go inside a building filled with explosives!_ But the 'good friend Greg' ignored it.

A sick wave of guilt, anxiety and fear hit him hard. _You could have prevented this__!_

_Time to correct your mistakes, Sergeant Parker_. He glanced at his watch. Not much time ... He switched the radio to the third channel.

"Ed! Do you copy? What the hell are you doing?" he said firmly, the tension causing his voice to rise.

"Boss. The boy may still be here," Ed said quietly after a short pause, "I have to check this out."

"Ed, stop, we don't have reliable information. It' just a guess!" he exclaimed and caught himself, trying to get his emotions under control. _Focus, Parker! Pull yourself together! He needs you, they all need you, get a grip, you don't have the luxury of hysterics now. You've got to get him out there._ "Listen to me," he continued, quieter now, "Ed, you did everything you could. Now you get outta there right now!" He waited for an answer, barely noticing that Jules and Lou are standing next to him, listening to the dialogue and watching him worriedly. "Eddie?"

"There are a lot of rooms. What if I missed something?.. Greg, if I ... I have to check everything again ... I can't leave him here," Ed sounded confused, disoriented, Greg noticed. He could hear his jerky ragged breathing. If he didn't know Ed, he would have thought that Ed was now on the verge of a breakdown? _No, that wasn't possible,_ Greg pushed the idea away_. Not Ed. Never Ed. And yet ..._

Jules stared at him, stricken. "Boss? What's happening? What's wrong with Ed?" she whispered.

It was a moment before Greg could answer. _Wrong, wrong!_ His heart was hammering.

"It's a stress reaction, Jules. Just a stress reaction," he answered in a hoarse voice. _And you should have known, you stupid, stupid son of a bitch, Greg Parker, you should have known it! You're allowed to go on a hot call team member being in a stress! May be depressed! _

He took a deep breath.

"Eddie, listen to me. I take full responsibility. Get out of there. I'm begging you, buddy. No. I'm order you. You hear me?" Greg's voice was steady as he spoke with as much confidence as he could muster.

No answer.

**5 minutes 10 seconds **(Technical basement)

Ed turned to run towards the exit, but ... remained motionless.

No doubt, Greg was right. Ed had done everything possible. He had checked everywhere. The kid was not there.

Now the basement was silent. Stan should have been able to hear as Ed called out to him repeatedly. Even if the guy was still wearing the headphones, he should have realized something was up when the lighting changed to emergency mode. _Yes, he had probably __got out__ of the basement before this whole mess began. Of course he had __got out__ ..._

"Ed? Answer me!" He heard Greg's voice in his headset, both demanding and desperate.

"I hear you, boss," Ed forced himself to concentrate. "I'm fine. I'm on my way out," he said uncertainly, his voice a little shaky.

"Confirm this!" Greg repeated firmly.

"Confirm. I'm on my way out, "Ed repeated, more confidently, and he ran towards the exit.

"Thank God..." he heard Greg whispered, "Thank God. Ed, hurry up, please!"

**4 minutes 55 seconds **(near Command truck)

Greg looked feverishly at his watch. _All right, all right, there is still time._ In the distance he saw three figures appear from the parking gate. Wordy and two civilians, he guessed. Unwittingly, he realized that he was mad at Wordy. _How could he leave Ed there alone!? _But the moment the thought entered his mind, he pulled himself together, blaming himself for his outburst of irrational anger. Wordy had had no choice.

"Boss," Sam hailed him urgently, covering the microphone with his hand, "Spike has less than five minutes. He is almost finished with countermeasures but he may not have time to remove the detonator..." he did not finish. Words weren't necessary. With anxiety Sam looked at the sergeant, who had to make another difficult choice.

Greg swore under his breath, nodded and changed the channel, going back to Spike.

"Spike, report."

"I've finished up with the protection! Now everything is identical to the first bomb," Spike replied quickly, "I'm starting on the detonator, cutting the wires that connect-"

"Spike, wait, wait. Listen to me," Greg interrupted him, "With the first bomb, removing the detonator took you almost 4 minutes. You need at least 2 minutes to get out. If anything goes wrong ... are you sure you have enough time? "

"Yeah ... I think so," Spike muttered.

Greg caught the hesitation in Spike's voice and immediately made a decision. _Enough_. His people had been through enough today. To hell with the building. He did not care. Only his people who were still inside, only Spike and Ed were important now.

"Okay, Spike. You're done!"

"Boss, everything's under control here. I can work faster. Just give me..."

"Spike!" Sam interrupted, cutting into conversation. "If something goes wrong, you will not have time to get out of there! You pull back now!"

"You heard him Spike. Get out of range!" Greg commanded abruptly, leaving no room for negotiation. His teeth clenched. _Please, Spike, do not start arguing now!_ He was on the verge. He felt like banging his head against the wall. Two of his teammates were still in danger inside the building, and the minutes and seconds were passing by relentlessly.

"Okay. Boss, you sure nobody is in the building?" Spike asked, unsure.

Standing by the command truck, the members of Team One exchanged uneasy looks. Spike did not know that Ed was still in the building. He did not know about the young man somewhere in the basement. But if he found out ...

Greg ran a hand over his face_. They had checked the basement. They did everything possible. Ed's on the way out. _He made his decision.

"It's all right, Spike. Building's secure. Get out of there. That's an order, do you copy?"

"Copy, boss," Spike said in a deflated tone, "I'm on way out."

"Jules," Greg turned to the young woman beside him. "Notify all units in the area. We are expecting an explosion. Tell them move the perimeter expanded at least another five hundred feet," Greg ordered with a heavy sigh, "This place is ready to blow". He nodded to Wordy who ran up to command truck at this moment. They exchanged an anxious look, but said nothing. There would be time to talk after.

**4 minutes 50 seconds **(technical basement)

Running just a few steps towards the exit, Ed suddenly stopped. He looked back, standing still and listening.

_Did he check everything? If there __was even__ half a chance that the youth may be there somewhere... Maybe he should check everything again? More closely? Maybe he should check the parking? Of course! They'd just run through the parking lot, not checking it out! There were also the utility rooms. If the kid was not outside and not in the basement, he could only be somewhere in the parking lot! _

He looked feverishly at his watch. There is still time. He decidedly turned towards the car park.

Suddenly, his heart almost jumped out of his chest. A sound! Somewhere behind him he'd heard a quiet but distinct sound, like something metal rolling across the concrete floor.

_The boy was here! _ He nearly choked on the huge hot wave of relief that flowed over him.

He had no more doubts.

"Stan!" he shouted and waited for a moment, listening. Getting no answer, he turned and ran back down the corridor, deeper into the technical basement. Away from the exit.

**4 minutes 30 seconds **(near Command truck)

Finishing his discussion with Spike, Greg glanced anxiously at the gate to the parking lot. Ed had to be near the exit by now. He switched channel.

"Ed, I've just ordered Spike out. This means that the bomb will explode in four minutes. There's no way to stop it, so hurry. You got it?" He paused, waiting for Ed's response. When there wasn't one, he frowned. "What's your location, Ed?"

"Boss, I heard something," Ed's voice was frighteningly calm, "I have to check. I'm staying."

"What?! Cancel that!" Greg gasped, as if he'd been punched in the belly, his mind racing. At the same time, he heard quiet curses of Lou and Wordy beside him. "Ed! There's no time! Get outta there! Get out now! It's a direct order, goddamn it!" he grabbed his head, _This can't be! This can't be!_ He thought wildly, knowing time was running out.

"Boss, I'm absolutely sure. Somebody's here."

"Buddy, buddy, buddy what are you doing?!" Greg shouted, trying and failing to conceal his panic. _Oh, God, no. _

He saw Jules shake her head in denial, her hand clapped over her mouth. Her eyes met his, and he saw the reflection of his own horror in them. _No, no, no!_

"EDDIE!" Suddenly aware he was yelling, Greg paused, breathing deeply to calm his jangled nerves and regain his composure. Feverishly, he tried to decide what was best thing to say, knowing that he couldn't afford to say the wrong thing.

"Eddie, listen to me," he began in a low but strained, almost pleading voice. "You and I, we both know what's going on with you right now. This boy. Remember our conversation yesterday. There is a child involved, and right now you're not thinking rationally. You're emotional. It's affecting your judgment. You can't think straight right now. I'm asking you to believe me, Eddie. Get out of the building immediately. You're not able to make decisions yourself so you need to listen to me!" He waited desperately for an answer, "Eddie? Talk to me, please ... I'm begging you, don't do this, buddy..." Greg felt his voice begin to shake. The whole world started to shake around him.

Crackling static was his only reply.

_Spike! __Should he order__ to Spike to return? __Should he allow__ him to continue to work on the bomb? No, it's too late, he will lose them both. Someone has to go to the basement. To pull out Ed with force. Wordy was there, he knows where to find him. Wordy can find Ed quickly. No. Wordy has three children. He __cannot__ let him go there. Someone else? Who? Does he have the right to order someone to take such a risk? __To face certain death? He was the only one who should get down there__. Ed was his responsibility. He was the one that sent him there._

Greg's mind was racing; too many thoughts and fears were bombarding him. _Where was his customary poise?! His legendary calm head in a crisis? His legendary negotiation skills? _

He took a step towards the building but Wordy's hand clamped down on his shoulder and held him fast. "No, Boss ..."

Greg could almost feel the precious seconds running away. He rubbed his hand across his forehead and eyes. The sweat was dripping down his face. He started to gasp from the weight of despair that came down on him. He was going to lose his friend. He was going to lose Ed. He opened his mouth to say something that would save his friend.

But nothing came.

He turned to face at his teammates standing stunned next to him. They did not take their eyes off him; horror, shock and hope were there reflected in their eyes. They were waiting for him to decide, continuing to believe in him like they always believed in him during crisis situations.

Now here in front of him was possibly the worst crisis of his life. A crisis which he could possibly have anticipated and prevented but he did not. A crisis, which he had allowed to happen and then let slip out of control, and one that he now didn't know how to fix.

"Guys?" he asked hoarsely. "He's not listening to me. He's not responding. Help me ..."

…

tbc


	12. Giving my life for this?

Chapter 12

"_Giving my life for this!?"_

**3 ****minutes ****before the ****explosion **(Right wing of the hotel)

Spike was running towards the exit from the building. He was disappointed. _Damn, damn, he has nearly finished! So close to success!__If he had been with the second bomb from the beginning__, it could be otherwise. Yes, they managed to get everyone out of the building, managed to defuse one bomb, but the second ... Maybe the building wouldn't be completely demolished, but this part will definitely be destroyed._

He ran out of the main entrance and rushed towards to the SRU cars he saw in the distance.

He noticed an enormous number of fire trucks, waiting in suspense at the far end of the square and on adjacent streets, an array of blue and red flashes.

"Hey guys, looks like they've gathered fire trucks from all over the city," he chuckled mirthlessly as he ran, addressing his teammates on the radio. "I'm afraid the firefighters will have a lot on their hands today. It's gonna be a really big bang... "

"Yes, Spike ..." Sam was the only one to reply. His voice sounded strange.

Spike suddenly realized that it had been quite some time since he had heard any other voices besides Sam's but being next to a live bomb had made him so focused on his task that did not even pay attention to it. Now a terrible suspicion hit him.

"Sam? Where's the boss? Everybody? What's happening?"

"Channel three, Spike ... It's Ed ..." He heard something in Sam's voice that made him stop in the middle of the square. He switched over and a tumult of voices hit his ears.

"... right now! Ed, there is still time, you hear me?" Wordy's voice was a mixture of rage, despair and pain.

"Ed, please ..." Jules begged.

Spike froze where he was. "Ed! Are you in the building?!" he yelled.

"Sorry, Spike. Had no choice ..." Ed's voice sounded strangely calm, almost aloof.

"Damn, what have you done, Ed, what have you done?" Spike looked in horror at the hotel and clutched his head with his hands in despair. Someone ran up to him from behind.

"C'mon, Spike. You can't stay here," Sam dragged him towards the cars.

**2 minutes 40 seconds **(Technical basement)

Ed was perfectly calm. The fatigue and darkness that had surrounded and tortured him during the last months had gone, leaving only an absolute clarity and tranquility, and a full understanding of why he was here now.

Everything seemed right, logical and unquestionable. He just needed to save this kid and all ... And all would be right. He would be fine again. And everything would make sense.

This was why he had been brought here. It was fate that had brought him to this basement. His long-awaited penance, paid for with endless nights of nightmares, paid for with his separation from Sophie and Clarke, paid for with years of painful memories. It was the redemption he had begged for, his chance to fix everything.

**2 minutes 20 seconds **(near Command truck)

"You lied to me!" Spike almost ran into Greg, "Why, boss, why did you do that! Why did you let him go in there?! Why did not you tell me that he was still in the building?!" he shouted into the stunned face of his commander, forgetting about insubordination. "Why did you make me leave? I had time to defuse that bomb! What have you done?"

Greg made no answer and Spike turned sharply away, grabbing the plan of basement.

Wordy grabbed Greg's arm. "Boss, say something! Talk to him! You can get him out! Greg!" he shook him hard.

Greg shook his head slowly, staring blankly in front of him, "He's not even hearing us now, Wordy. He's passed the point of no return," he said in a strange, distant voice. He couldn't seem to feel his lips; they seemed numb. He felt entirely numb now, "Ed's gonna look for this kid and he won't leave until he finds him. But the problem is that there no any kids. He's looking for a ghost, Wordy, only a ghost. I shouldn't have let him go ... "

Wordy looked at him with terror, "Greg! There's no time for that!" Again he shook him, roughly.

Greg seemed not to hear Wordy. He continued to speak quietly. "I should have seen this coming. He's been falling apart in front of my eyes and I didn't see it coming. Spike warned me. You warned me but I didn't listen. Now it's too late, too late, Wordy ..." He faltered and blinked.

Wordy, noticing all the signs of shock, pushed Greg back to the board of the Command truck. Sergeant stayed stood there silently, motionless, staring into space blankly.

**1 minute ****55 seconds **(technical basement)

Ed stopped dead in his tracks, looking around wildly, listening and trying to hear that sound again.

_If I can't find this kid... If he will die too…_

Suddenly, he felt that he was beginning to choke. The walls of the corridor around him seemed to draw closer, pressing in on him. He covered his face with his hands. A moment later he pulled his hands away. The red light of an emergency lamp that was hanging over his head fell on his palms and colored them in a blood-red.

He nearly cried out. Closing his eyes tightly, he stood frozen in the long semi-darkened corridor, flooded with red light, panting and trembling.

_What the hell is wrong with me? Why couldn't I stay focused?!_

He had never known confusion like this. He couldn't think, not logically. It was like he was lost in a new kind of nightmare. He heard the entreaties and requests of his teammates, they called him, asking him to listen to them and get out of the basement. He had heard Greg's words…

_God, Greg suspects, that I'm crazy!_ _No, no, he doesn't understand! I'm fine! But what if Greg was right?_

It was as if some strange pendulum was moving in his head. In an instant, the rational part of his brain yammered at him to get out of there straightaway. But the next moment something else, something dark and menacing, whispered at him to stay. He could almost hear this quiet croaking voice, ordering him to stay and continue to search_... _

_O, God… __That sound. Was it real?! What if Greg was right and there was no one here besides myself and my ghosts? _He was almost gasping for breath.

_No, no, I'm not crazy!_ he screamed to himself. He made an effort and opened his eyes, straightened himself up and leaned back against the wall, needing support.

"Ed? Ed - can - you - hear me?" He heard Wordy's pleading voice. "Talk to me, please!" The words came slowly, dreamily down a long tunnel. They didn't make much sense to him but he could hear the fear in them.

"Wordy?" His own voice sounded foreign to him, as though his lips refused to form the sounds his brain was telling him to.

"Thank God! Where are you, Ed? How far are you from the exit?" There was definitely a sense of panic in his friend's voice.

**1 minute 20 seconds before explosion.**

"I... I'm still in the basement, next to the parking lot," Ed looked around, trying to get his bearings.

"Shit ... it's too far ..." he heard Sam muttered.

And then Jules' desperate quiet whisper, "Oh my God, he won't make it..."

For a split second he hesitated. If he ran right now like all hell chasing him, then maybe he'd do it._ Perhaps._

Yes, he'd do this, he had to, and he made the decision, and …

… and at that moment, somewhere behind him he heard the same sound, louder, and …

… and he froze, his heart beating wildly, and…

…and the pendulum in his soul swung to the other side...

_No hallucinations, no ghosts, he was right! They __had doubted__ him, they __didn't__ believe him, but he was right! __The boy__ was here, somewhere very close. Even if Ed __didn't__ have time to __get him out of__ the danger zone, he'd do anything to save him. Cover him with his own body. Protect him from injury. __He'd__ save this kid or __he'd__ die, trying. __That was what he was here for._

Things steadied again and he made his choice.

He ran back down the corridor, his need to save the kid so strong, so urgent that it overrode all other thoughts.

"Ed? Where are you!"

He didn't answer. Running almost to the end of the corridor, he stopped motionless, listening intently.

The rustling and ringing repeated. It was quite near. Exultantly, he yanked open the nearest door, and...

… and froze.

**50 seconds **

The small black-and-white kitten arched its back and jumped aside in fright. Ed stood motionless, stunned, disbelieving. A cardboard box, empty bowls of shiny steel, some toys. Someone was keeping a kitten in this basement, in this storeroom, maybe someone from the parking staff. Apparently, the kitten was playing near the bowls and their ringing on the concrete floor was the sound Ed had heard.

"Ed, are you in the parking lot?"

"Ed!"

He could barely hear the cries of his teammates in his radio. The reality of his situation suddenly hit him so hard that he staggered and had to put his hand on the wall nearby. The world began to sway in front of him.

_Greg was right._ There is no boy and probably never was. But, besotted by his own insane desire to find redemption for his guilt fifteen years ago, Ed had stopped thinking rationally and he had allowed his guilt turn into madness. He had allowed his demons to lure him into this trap. He had lost his battle with the darkness.

The cost of this defeat would be his life.

_How stupid ... my God ... how stupid ... This was it? This was really how it was going to end? Is this my redemption? I've been coming to this all these years? Giving my life for this!?_ Not thoughts but fragments of thoughts flitted through his brain...

Ed looked at his watch. _That's it._ The sense of frantic urgency left him. All at once he became aware that he was very tired, totally drained, ruined. _Well, if that's how it's going to end, then so be it._

He stepped into the room.

**20 seconds **

"Ed, listen to me!" He suddenly heard Spike's furious voice in his headset. "If you're on the parking, you have to get out of there! Go back to the basement! You don't have time to get out! Look at the plan! You need to get yourself in the northern part of the basement as far from the parking as possible, you hear me? As far as you can, Ed! "

His PDA was in the pocket of his vest but he didn't need to look at the plan. He knew that he was in the northern part.

"Spike! What the hell are you talking about? He can't go back, he should get out there, faster! Ed, go!" He could hear the screams of his friends on the radio but he did not listen to them.

He looked at the kitten squeezed into the farthest corner of the room in terror. He moved closer and picked up the small skinny ball of dirty black and white fur. The kitten was not even trying to run away and hung helplessly in his hand. Then it opened its tiny mouth and gave a feeble meow. Ed gently ran a finger over its head and ears and was surprised to hear a quiet purr.

**10 seconds**

"ED!"

He unzipped his vest and the jacket and put the kitten under the thick layers of material and Kevlar, cradling the trembling creature to his chest. The only protection he could offer. Maybe it would be able to save the kitten from injury and when the rescuers would find his body, the kitten would be probably still alive.

He looked around, hoping to find some sort of protection, some shelter. There was nothing but bare walls, shelving, tubes…

**5 seconds**

Oh God, he had to say something... He grabbed the radio.

"Greg! Listen to me. Don't you dare blame self. No matter what you think, there was nothing you could have done. You did everything to help me, buddy. It's my fault, all my fault! Tell Sophie and Cla-"

He did not have a chance to finish.

**0 seconds**

The ground jumped up with a terrifying rumble and threw him backwards onto the concrete floor. All around, the walls, the floor, even the air began to shake steadily, as though in an earthquake. Debris and dust sifted down around him. He managed to curl up on his side, trying to protect himself and the little creature pressed against his chest, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. The red lights flashed and flickered, sending out sparks.

The roar steadily increased and the ground under him trembled more strongly. He began to choke with heavy dust hanging in the air. Everything was collapsing around him, on him. He rolled onto his back and, pushing with his feet, tried to crawl to the wall, as something heavy hit him on his right leg. A severe pain shot through him and he cried out in agony but the next moment his cry was cut off as a new blow fell on his head.

And the darkness had engulfed him.


	13. Sam, I just want to be alone now

**Chapter 13**

_"Sam, I just want to be alone now."_

Sam had lost friends and colleagues in the past.

He was well acquainted with this ripping pain in the soul and the helplessness that followed after the irreparable had happened. Also he was aware of the denial, the desperate attempt of the consciousness to shut itself off from the pain and the grief and the suffering.

Sam rose from the ground after the roar of the explosion and the crash of crumbling walls had subsided, coughing. The air was choked with heavy dust that smelled of concrete and ash. He scanned faces of his teammates. They were masks of anguish; doleful, pale and drawn. Jules was weeping openly now. _They were starting to come to the awful realization that had happened, _Sam understood.

Then he saw the Sergeant. Immediately, he recognized on the face of his commander the expression that he had seen so often in his own past on the faces of his fellow soldiers, standing over the body of a fallen friend. A blunt, silent, frightening calmness. A frozen mask of overwhelming denial. He could see that Greg had refused to believe, refused to accept the awful truth. Something in him had shut down, shunted the truth away from his consciousness.

It was hard to hear his calm tone, to see him smile and to see how his hands trembled as he tried to get his phone to call Ed, to watch as he refused to listen to Spike desperately trying not to look in the direction of the ruined building.

Sam knew what he should do. Denial would soon recede, giving way to pain and grief. When the reality of what had happened hit his commanding officer, Sam would be there to help him...

...

He held Greg's shoulders, feeling his body tremble. He could hear his rapid heavy breathing, a husky "no" breaking through between panting breaths but it was little more than a whisper. It was not that terrible heartrending scream of "No!" from a few moments ago.

Sam has never seen his boss like this before, so lost and broken. He had never seen him lose his command focus... But the Sergeant had just lost his closest friend. Someone who was more than a friend, almost a brother.

He gritted his teeth to stop his own desire to scream in despair and rage. _How stupid..._

Sam glanced at the rest of his team members. It was strange for him to be the only one who was retaining a semblance of control. _Though__, why should it be strange?_ He had come to the SRU from JTF2 where losing friends on the battlefield was not something unusual for him. In addition, he had joined the team a little more than a year ago so it was understandable that, for his team members who had known Ed for many years, the loss was so much harder. Sam could only guess what kind of pain Greg and Wordy were now experiencing; they had lost not only a team member but also a man who had been their friend for a good twenty years or more.

Sam stood now before Greg, holding his shoulders tightly, blocking his path to the building.

"Please, Boss, don't ..." he quietly urged the older man.

"Let me go, Sam!" Greg did not take his eyes from the ruins.

He pulled out of Sam's grasp and rushed towards the ruined building. Sam followed him.

Their path was blocked by one of the firefighters. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I can't let you in!" he shook his head.

"I'm Sergeant Gregory Parker, SRU, I need to pass. Move aside!" Greg tried to pass by him.

"You can't, Sergeant," the firefighter said, physically blocking Greg's passage. "It's still dangerous; the structure is not stable. We are still trying to localize pockets of fire," he insisted, his hands pressed against Parker's vest-covered chest, stopping him, "Sergeant, I really can't let you..."

"I have my man inside!" Greg interrupted him, almost yelling.

"I know sir, but you can do nothing to help. It's our job now," the man said firmly.

"Wait ..." Greg stopped and furiously rubbed his face, forcing himself to focus. He took a deep breath, "Chief, you don't understand, my friend is still there in the rubble..."

The firefighter nodded. "We know about your guy, officer. Do you know exactly where he was?" he asked with obvious sympathy.

"The last message was that he was close to the underground parking. He was on his way to the exit. This was shortly before the explosion ..." Sam said in a low voice.

The firefighter shook his head with obvious disappointment. "I'm sorry but the underground parking and the part of the building over it was completely destroyed. If, as you say, he was there... I'm really sorry," he repeated.

"The technical basement?" Greg asked hoarsely, clenching his hands into fists so hard that nails dug forcefully into his palms. He welcomed this pain.

"Some parts of the structure may still be standing but if your man was near the parking lot just before the explosion ... there was no way in heaven that anybody could have survived that kind of destruction. It's just impossible," he shrugged.

Greg hated how calm and indifferent the man sounded. It wasn't right, not when his world felt like it had just been blown up. Literally.

"You don't know him. He doesn't know the word impossible. If there's the slightest chance, Ed takes it. He is the luckiest person I know. And the strongest," he swallowed against the growing lump in his throat, "Please, Chief, don't give up. We can help. Please let us help in the search. We have technical facilities..."

"We have all the necessary technical facilities, too, Sergeant Parker," the man interrupted him. Then he sighed. "Sergeant, I do understand your grief. I know how hard it is to lose a team member..." He broke off, seeing how desperately the SRU officer in front of him was shaking his head.

"Ed Lane is more than just a member of the team; he is my friend," Greg refused to talk about Ed in the past tense. _He would not_… _Not_ _until he could see him with his own eyes._ _Stop!_ He banished the thought, "You have to look for him. I'm begging you. He's in there. Eddie's strong. Please, let us help..." his throat suddenly tightened again as he fell silent.

"I understand you, Sergeant. But I can't let you in there. It's too dangerous for non-specialists to be there right now. We'll handle it. None of us wants any losses, Sergeant. I'm sorry, guys," the rescuer said quietly.

"So, what you suggest? We just wait?" Greg asked hoarsely.

"Sergeant ... this may take some time. Hours. Days perhaps... And if ... I mean, when we find him..." the man looked straight into Greg's eyes, "You do have to understand. He was almost in the epicenter; he's littered with tons of debris. It will be hard to see. It's better that you not be present when we retrieve his ... body," he sighed heavily and frowned, "Listen, these things are always hard to say but you're no ordinary civilian. You must realize there may not even be a body. Maybe only fragments. You had really better get your people out of here, Sergeant... "

Greg could not speak. _F__ragments..._ Silently, he turned and headed toward the SUV, barely noticing that Sam was beside him.

They passed by the crew of one of the numerous news channels.

"... but fortunately the police received a bomb threat warning in time and the victims managed to escape ..." He caught a piece of the phrase that one reporter was speaking to the camera, standing against the background of the smoking ruins. He quickened his pace, trying to get as far away as possible.

He opened the door and got into the SUV, staring blankly in front of him through the windshield. _Victims managed to escape_ ... His gaze returned to the reporter. He knew how people all over the city and the country would now be glued to their television screens and tablets, eagerly watching the news. "No victims." Without moving, he watched as the reporter turned to interview one of the police chiefs. The man was answering calmly, his face serious, focused, confident. Finally, he smiled, Greg noticed. An encouraging, strong, professional smile for the public, waiting to be calmed down. _Victims managed to escape..._ The police had done their job. Everything was under control. You can continue to live and work on. You're safe.

Greg gritted his teeth. _These people._ When the news would finally inform them that one policeman had died, would any of them grieve? Or be terrified? Or would they just shrug their shoulders and say, "It's a shame about that guy but it was his job" and indifferently switch to the next channel? Would they want to find out who had died for their peace of mind? Would they even want to know how often this cop had put his life on the line for them? What a great man, what an awesome friend, what a hero he was? Would they want to know about the years of nightmares? About his ruined family life? About the price that Ed had paid in order to protect their lives, their peace and safety? These people ... they're just conventional normal people ... they are the ones for whom Greg and all the team were working.

_So others can eat pie, Boss!_ Ed's smiling face rose in his mind.

He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned softly, lowering his head on his arms crossed on the steering wheel. He bit back the tears threatening to form. _This isn't happening... _

"Boss?" Sam called quietly to him, as he stood next to the open door of an SUV.

"You guys go back to the barn. I'll stay here," Greg said with difficulty, without opening his eyes and lifting his head. No force in the world would make him leave this place now.

A new thought came to him. _There will have to be an identification when they find Eddie. Fragments ... Sophie. Clarke. God, please don't let it be fragments ..._ His stomach rebelled; nausea rose hot and acid in his throat but he had too many years of experience in death and horror to surrender to it.

"Boss, we're not leaving you here alone. If there is anything I can do ..." Sam said, and paused.

Greg sighed. Perhaps he should have felt gratitude for this friendly support and the attempt at comfort but there was only a gaping emptiness inside; that's all that he now felt. _Go away, just leave me alone, alone with my grief! Just let me say goodbye to my friend!_ Greg's breathing quickened, his whole body tensed.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream in anger, to hit something, someone ... anything.

He could not. _I'm still at work_, he forced himself to remember. _I have my duty; there are other people that I should care for ... as I was obliged to take care of Eddie. But I did not ..._

He pushed away the emotions, raised his head and opened his eyes. "You heard him, Sam. This could take hours..." He looked at his young teammate, noticing his haggard face and sincere sympathy and the pain in his eyes. Greg sighed, "Take care of our people for me. Try ... try to help them somehow, okay?"

"Okay, sir," Sam said quietly.

"And contact HQ. Inform them about what happened," he struggled, searching for the words,"Tell them not inform Sophie. I'll do it myself," he winced and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'll do it, Boss. Anything else?" Sam said, still standing next to the car.

Greg sighed heavily, "Sam, I just want to be alone now. Please. I'll be fine here," he said, his words barely audible.

Sam nodded, moving away from the SUV.

Greg reached out his hand and slammed the door, isolating himself from all external sounds. He bowed his head as if in prayer, but no words for God came to his lips. Nothing came to him. Empty cold space filled his brain because Ed was dead. His best friend ever, in the entire world. He was gone.

_This was a nightmare. It could not be actually happening. This could not BE happening_, Greg kept chanting but every time he dared look through the windshield, he saw the ruins of the building at the far end of the plaza covered with dust and debris, that told him this was worse than a nightmare. It was reality.

_Eddie had died. Eddie was dead. He wasn't coming back,_ he had said to himself again and again, endless repetitions, refusing to believe it. His friend was lost in the dark and no one had helped him find a way out. There had been so many opportunities to have helped him in time ... but Greg had refused to acknowledge the warning signs when they appeared.

He had decided that the best help for Ed was just to give him time and trust. In other words, he had chose to leave his friend alone with his pain, his grief, his demons. _Tell the truth, Greg Parker, you just buried your head in the sand._

Spike was right ... the only things that Greg had done was that he had waited and chatted. He had spoken when it was necessary to act. When he had finally begun to act, it was already too late. When an abscess in the body of sick man is killing him, the doctor must act quickly and decisively, not wait, not speak, but cut. It would hurt the patient but it would ultimately save his life...

Greg felt the hot sting of tears threaten the back of his throat.

_Eddie, through injury, fear, loss, pain, victory and defeat, the one constant in my life had been your friendship. The dearest thing I've had since I lost my family… You had been so insistent everything was okay with you that I was willing to let you have your way. You insisted that you were fine and so I was fine too. I saw, I knew that it was not true. But God forgive me, I wanted so badly for you to be okay that I deliberately didn't look below the surface. I chickened out. I was just afraid that if I acted like a boss with you, like a Sergeant, I'd lose your friendship. I couldn't, I just couldn't. I retreated. I left you alone. And now, I've lost you, my friend ... I've lost you ..._

He looked at the empty passenger seat beside him. His gaze slid below and caught something black lying on the floor under the seat. He reached out and picked up Ed's black gloves. Carefully, he put them on the panel under the windshield.

A quiet sob escaped his lips before he could bite it back. But he could no longer hold it back. He hid his face in his hands and broke into racking convulsive sobs.

"What words can I say, buddy?" Greg whispered through groan. "What can I say? I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm so sorry..."

….

In a dusty blackness of basement, half-littered with rubble, lies the body of a man.

There's no movement or sound from him.

Dust slowly settles on his face and a hand, helplessly lying on his chest still covered protectively something hidden under his jacket...

Yet, there is a quiet movement. The side of jacket lifted up and a black and white kitten's muzzle appears. Pricking up its ears, it sniffs the air and looks warily around. There is only total darkness but the kitten is used to living in the basement. Dark and loud sounds never frightened it but now everything has changed... There are other sounds and smells here. Its neck ruff bristled when it detects the unmistakable terrible smell of blood nearby. Its keen ears are listening alertly to the rustlings, squeaks, rattles... Suddenly, there is some loud noise nearby and something large falls close. Scared, the kitten jumps out from the man's jacket and hides among the debris.

...

tbc

**A/N Thank you all for reading so far**. **I'm sorry, but ****I'm not sure if I should continue to publish this story... Yet, my knowledge of English obviously is not enough for writing good stories. Please do not think that this is blackmail or complaint or a request for a review :) ****I always make to myself the highest demands. If I am not satisfied with the quality of what I do, it means that I should stop and think how to make it better. **

**********This story is almost done. There was only one chapter 18 have to be completed and translated. But tonight I reread the whole story and now I have a lot of doubts. **

******I promise that I'll try to cope with this my self-doubts-attack, ****but I apologize if I will fail.**


	14. Need a little help here…

**A/N: **All right. I hate unfinished stories, too. If there are people who would like to read the rest of this story, I promise that I'll do my best to publish it to end.

**Chapter 14 **

"**Need a little help here…"**

…

_Something was terribly wrong._

_He wasn't safe._

_His life threatened._

_He knew it._

_He could feel it._

_Awareness._

_Pain._

…

His senses gradually began to return and vaguely he wished that they hadn't, as he became aware of the growing pain. Dizzying. Excruciating. In his skull. Worse than any he had ever had. His head felt as though it were broken and he had trouble concentrating on anything other than the agony that spread out from his forehead and left temple through his entire skull.

The origin of the pain? He was not sure. He couldn't remember.

For a while he just lay there, balancing on the verge of consciousness. He could not even try to move or try to open his eyes, instinctively knowing this would increase the agony.

_Just breathe... In and out..._

His mouth was so dry that his tongue clove to his palate. He tried to lick his lips. A new sensation slowly formed in his blurred with pain consciousness. _Sand?_ Some fine-grained particles were inside his mouth as well as covering his lips and face. He tried to swallow, spit lacking, the effort grueling. The sharp particles painfully scratched his dry throat.

_In and out..._

Another sense rose slowly to the foreground, a smell of smoke, ash and concrete. The air was heavy with dust. He wanted to cough, and he wanted to vomit. A husky whimper reached his ears and he barely realized that this sound was coming from him.

_Just breathe..._

…

Some time has passed. He didn't know how long.

He was now conscious enough to realize that he obviously badly wounded in the head. He became aware of warm wetness, flowing abundantly down his forehead and over the left side of his head and neck. He knew he was lying on his back and the ground beneath him hard and uncomfortable. And he definitely knew about a crushing weight, pressing on his lower body and a second source of severe pain down there, under this weight, where his right leg lay.

Pain pressed heavily, wore down, not allowing to focus. Thinking was difficult, complicated. Thoughts were tangled. Confusion set in. And yet through the foggy semi-consciousness an inevitable question began to form. _What had happened to him?_

He tried to concentrate but couldn't. His memory broken, shattered.

Basic things were still there. _Ed Lane. Sophie, Clark, the team. SRU, Toronto. _But his short-term memory was alarmingly blank. There was absolutely nothing that could explain how he ended up here. And where was this 'here'?

Adrenaline gave him strength and he tried to open his eyes, to find an explanation. He forced his eyelids to move, and they slid open, feeling gritty and scratchy.

He didn't expect the total darkness.

Panic surged through his mind which made Ed's heart beat faster than it should. For a minute or two, the pain soared higher. His stomach lurched. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing hoarsely through the pain and nausea. Then he opened his eyes again.

Same blackness.

He lay petrified as a terror threatened to overwhelm him. _I'm blind. _First, memory loss, now blindness. Had he suffered some terrible head injury that had left him blind? _No, no... I couldn't be blind_.

If only he could remember what had gone down before waking up in this dark and dusty hell. However, his memory stubbornly remained a total blank.

He swallowed and licked his dry lips.

"Anybody?.." it came out as a pathetic slurred croak. The throbbing pain behind his eyes spiked. No answer. "Guys..." he called weakly to the inky blackness again. He waited but still nothing. There was almost complete silence other than some creaking and rustling. No sounds out of his headset.

He closed his useless eyes. _Focus_. What was the last thing he remembered? The briefing. But was that today? A week ago? A year? What day was it? He remembered that he had not been cleared for full duty. Then ... then there was a conversation with the boss. The details slipped away but he remembered that they had agreed that he should only sit in the office or in the truck! When was that? In his mind, it was just yesterday, but the place where he was now was obviously not an office nor a truck. So when was this? How did he get here? And where's here? He was completely unaware of his surroundings.

He moved his hands and was delighted to find them mobile. Tentatively, he stretched his hands out into the darkness and tried to determine what was surrounding him. His fingers met with what felt like sharp rocks or debris, and lots of it. He lay among some debris, on it, under it.

He tried to force his body to move. He prepared himself for the pain but was not ready for the immobility. His legs would not move. Again he felt his panic begin to escalate, but he knew he was not paralyzed; he could feel the pain from his right leg and his left leg moved slightly. He was just covered with something. Pinned down.

_Buried alive. _

He didn't want to go there, it was way too nightmarish_. _

_Light. I need light._ He struggled to raise his hands slowly and bring them close to his face. With trembling fingers, he fumbled with his watch and pressed a tiny button, activating the back-light.

A bright blue light suddenly lit the inky darkness around him. The relief was so great that for a moment he thought he would cry_. Not blind._ He closed his eyes but after a moment he opened them again. There was something else. Something was right above him, around him. He turned his left hand so the faint light was now facing up.

A bent, twisted almost spiral steel girder blocked his view just a couple feet above him. Scraps of wires hung down from big concrete slab, what had once possibly been a ceiling but now was looming over him. _The ceiling of what? Where was he? When was he?_ Desperately he pushed his throbbing brain for answers but there was still nothing.

And yet, the smell of smoke and thick concrete dust, hanging in the air, the debris and the wreckage... All this added up to a clear picture. He was buried in the rubble of a collapsed building. He swallowed convulsively against a new wave of nausea and fear and tried to direct the light towards his feet. Yes, the pile the rubble. But the back-light was too weak to see the wreckage in detail.

_Flashlight. I need my Glock __with the under-barrel__flashlight__. I need to contact the team. I need to free my feet. I need ... I need help. God, so tired... Everything hurts_... Slowly, he reached out one hand and touched the left side of his head. His fingers came away sticky with blood. In the weak blue light, the blood smeared across his palm looked black. _I need to stop the bleeding_ ... He dropped his hand letting it lie sluggishly along his side. A noise between his ears rose higher, bees buzzing… It was getting harder to hold his lids open, almost beyond heavy now.

He closed his eyes, his thoughts fading, disappearing…

###

The door of the SUV opened and someone got in the passenger seat next to him.

Slowly, he raised his head from his hands that were folded on the steering wheel. _Wordy._ They stared at each other for a couple of seconds without speaking. Then Wordy reached out and clasped Parker's shoulder in sympathy. Greg nodded silently.

Neither of them seemed to know where to begin. Greg looked away, refusing to see the grief on Wordy's pale face. He was unable to say anything to make it better because what was there to say? What was there that could possibly make it better?

He did not want to talk right now. He did not even want to move. Why had Wordy come? What did he want? What was he waiting for Greg to tell him? The worst thing would be if Wordy had come to try to comfort him, to try to convince him that he was not responsible for Ed's death..._ Please Wordy don't, not now, not yet. It's too hard. It hurts too much. Don't ..._ he pleaded mentally, leaned his head on the headrest and closed his eyes. Nothing could stop the flood of guilt.

"Tell me," Wordy's quiet hoarse voice broke into his thoughts.

Greg frowned, a little confused. "About what?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"The boy," replied Wordy shortly.

Greg opened his eyes. _All right_. Wordy had not come to comfort him but had obviously come to get an explanation. Greg sighed. _The boy._ Ed had not told anyone about it. Did Greg have the right to talk about it? Well, he would have to, anyway. He would have to tell the team. They needed an explanation for what had happened. Let Wordy be the first.

"Did he ever tell you about Thomas Hutter?" Greg asked, turning toward him.

Wordy lowered his head. His eyes narrowed slightly and he frowned as if he was trying to remember something.

"Is that the boy he accidentally shot by death when he was in Guns and Gangs?"

Greg nodded.

"No, Boss, he didn't," Wordy shook his head.

"Then how do you know?" Greg asked, a bit confused.

Wordy shrugged. "We have known each other for almost twenty years, Boss," he said, and suddenly his face contorted. "Knew ..." he corrected himself and fell silent.

Greg clenched his teeth, almost painfully.

After a few seconds Wordy continued. "We were never told about it. I found out through mutual friends who worked with Ed then. No one blamed him, it really was an accident. It was night, a fierce shootout … it was not his fault but... "

"But he blamed himself," Greg finished for him distractedly. Now he did not want Wordy to leave him alone. Suddenly, it was good to talk about Ed. To fill this gaping hole in the soul with memories.

"But it's been fifteen years, Greg ..." Wordy whispered. "Why now?"

Greg sighed, "There was something else..."

Briefly, he told him about the bullet that had killed Jackson Barcliffe. He did not give any details; it was not necessary. Everything was clear without details.

They were silent for a long time.

"I should have understood it before, Wordy. All the signs were there. That was my job, God dammit, but I'd failed him," Greg said in a defeated tone. "He needed help, but I didn't do anything. I thought I was defending him, but I just left him alone. I'm his friend, his boss and I left him alone," Greg leaned his hands on the steering wheel and bowed his head.

"No, Boss. It was not your fault," Wordy said quietly, "I'm his friend too and I didn't notice that things had gone so far. We saw what he wanted us to see. It was his choice to try and do this alone. His decision. At any time, he could have put up his hand and said, 'Hey guys, drowning, not waving.' But he didn't. And that's Ed. It's not our fault if he'd rather cut his own throat with blunt scissors than ask for help," Wordy said bitterly before falling silent again.

Greg turned his head to look at him and saw tears on Wordy's face. It was hard to say anything now. His own emotions choked him.

Abruptly, Wordy wiped his eyes with his palm, "Son of a bitch! I told him!" He swore under his breath and slammed his fist into the door, "I told him not to dare leave us like this, with this guilt, thinking that we did not help him," his jaw was trembling from a desperate attempt to contain his emotions. "Boss?" he said after a short pause. "We need to tell Sophie ..."

Greg nodded. "I know ... I'll do it myself but only after they find him."

"Why?" Wordy looked at him.

"She should not be here when they find his body," Greg replied hoarsely and, after a short pause he added, almost in a whisper, "I do not believe that he is gone, Wordy. I'm endlessly telling myself that he has died, but yet I do not believe. I just can't..."

###

Something caused him to wake up again, a rustling sound beside him. He turned his head toward the sound and a new surge of pain made him moan. For a couple of minutes he just lay there in the darkness, listening, waiting for the pain to subside again to a tolerable level. The sound was not repeated.

He wondered how long he had been unconscious that time. He raised his hands again and turned on the back-light of his watch but this time it was to look at the time and date. The last time he had not taken any notice it. Only the fact of being able to see or not had worried him then.

_March 10th_ ... The briefing, the last thing he remembered, was on March 10th! This meant that his memory loss was not as extensive as he had feared. Only a few hours. Not days, not months.

_The time?__ 10.35 am._ What does that mean? They usually have the morning briefing at 7:00 am which meant he had lost only about three and a half hours! That suddenly didn't seem so scary.

_Briefing. _

_His team!_

He reached out his hand and touched his headset on his left ear. He tried his radio communicator but still no sound came out, not even static. He found the receiver, fixed in his vest, suddenly noticing that his vest and jacket unzipped. _Strange. _Why would he have unzipped them?

Memory gave him no answer.

He tried to switch channels on the receiver. Still nothing. He pulled off the headset and tried to inspect it. The small device was slippery with blood. In the faint light he saw no external damage and it looked good but it was not working. Maybe the receiver itself or one of the connecting wires between the transmitter and the receiver and headset were damaged... _If Spike had been here, he would have __dealt__ with this in a couple of seconds..._ He dropped his hand with useless headset and wearily closed his eyes.

A dreary feeling overwhelmed him. What was even worse than the pain was not knowing what had become of his team. What if they too were in the building when everything collapsed? What if they too were now somewhere among these ruins? Of course, they had to be. At least one of them. Someone had to have been with him, as back-up. _Who would it have been? Wordy? Sam? Lou? All of them?_ He could only hope that they had been luckier than him.

What if they were lying just a few feet away? Injured? Dying? Already dead? Was he the sole survivor? _God, please, anything but that. _He moaned weakly.

_Or maybe they left without you? _Unbidden, a thought began to rise in his mind. _Maybe they believed you're dead._

_Stop._ _No way would they have left without him. _

"Team One?" he croaked out a pathetic call to his teammates. He listened. "Hello? Need a little help here," he called again, a bit louder now.

No answer.

The back-light on his watch faded and again he was lying in complete darkness.

_His cell!_ How could he forget! His mind is still a mess. He began frantically fumbling on his vest, looking for the pocket with the cell phone. His hands were trembling as he grabbed it and finally pulled out. With his fingers still sticky with blood he pressed a button, exulting when the color screen turned to life. It was brighter than the back-light and most importantly, was thankfully not broken as he feared it might have been.

No signal.

Was it because he was deep underground? He did not know how deep he could be. He did not even know if this place was underground.

Perhaps mobile communications were out for some other reason.

He tried to make his fogged with pain brain to ponder. Communications would be disabled in the immediate area of an explosive device, to prevent the use of radio detonator. But the explosion obviously had happened which meant that communications would soon be re-enabled. He just had to wait.

He looked at the battery level. More than half but still not full. He turned off the screen, not wanting to waste power. Who knew how long he would have to wait until help came. _If it came... If it came in time..._

As if he wasn't distressed enough, another depressing thought suddenly popped into his head. If it was a bomb, that meant that Spike had been near the bomb... And he would never have left a live bomb, knowing that Ed or anyone else was still in the building. He would not have given up. If the explosion had occurred, it meant that something unexpected had happened. Something had gone wrong which meant...

_Spike ... Oh, God, Spike ... no ... please, no..._

He felt a tear slide slowly out of the corner of his eye. _Spike… Who else?_ He did not know and probably would never know the fate of his team.

His despondency overwhelmed him for a minute and he let himself drift until his brain got back into gear when another thought rose up through the cotton haze. This wasn't his normal way of thinking, he was usually far more positive about things.

"What happened to your confidence and faith, Ed?" he whispered hoarsely in the dark, and yet he knew the answer to that. He was badly injured and the persistent pain was already wearing him down. He felt weak and helpless. His team, his friends were very likely dead, all of them, or at least some of them. So what is the point for him to resist the darkness? At least there would be no pain ...

Now the darkness insisted. _Just close your eyes and let go_. And the way his body felt right now, it was a lovely thought. _Just let go … and let death claim you. _

He nearly gave into it, but his stubborn will quickly rushed to the fore and told him, _No way_. _There is no way you're giving up this easily. You just have to hold on for a while. _

He closed his mind off to all depressive thought as he concentrated on fighting the pain and staying alive...

tbc


	15. Don't give up

**Chapter 15 **

_"Don't give up." _

Sam had done everything that the boss had asked him although there was not much he could do at this point.

He contacted HQ and informed them about the tragedy.

"I'm sorry guys," Winnie whispered back, and then he heard her muffled sobs.

A few minutes later he got the callback on his radio. With pain in his voice Сommander Holleran expressed his condolences and informed him that Team One had been temporarily stood down. Commander would like to come the place of tragedy in person, but after what happened his presence was needed at the City Hall for report to a hastily convened meeting of all security forces. Yes, in the HQ would wait on their report ... but they could take their time.

New units were arriving on the scene. Three military trucks of Bomb squad pulled into the square and stopped in front of the destroyed building. More fire trucks… Engineering Services and dump trucks for transporting the wreckage… CSIS cars… Other services were taking over control of the situation. A large agitated human anthill, where it seemed everyone knew what to do.

Only the members of Team One were now moved to the periphery. There was no more hurry now, nothing urgent that needed to be done.

They all were physically and emotionally exhausted, but none of them wanted to leave. So they only sat silently in their SUVs, lost in their thoughts. No one was willing to talk. They just were waiting.

…

Sam found Spike alone in the command truck, sitting with his head down on his arms as they rested on the desk in front of the numerous monitors.

Sam hesitated in the doorway for a moment, but then went in and closed the door. "Hey?" he called softly.

There was only silence from the bowed head.

"Been looking everywhere for you," Sam said in a low voice, trying to distract his friend somehow.

"I wasn't hiding," Spike muttered.

"Yeah, I can see that now," Sam nodded. "Uh, you okay?"

The reply was almost immediate, reflexive. "I'm fine."

Sam paused for a moment, taken aback. Spike's response was so reminiscent of Ed's typical replies... Apparently, Spike had a similar feeling. He raised his head and looked at Sam. His face was weary and spent but his eyes were dry, tearless. Moreover, Sam could see not sorrow but fury in them.

"Yeah, I'm fine ... Tell me, how can anything be fine after that, Sam?" Spike asked hoarsely.

Sam sighed and stepped closer. "If you need to talk, I'm here, Spike."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Spike sighed, "I don't want to talk now. Maybe later, but ... not now. Thank you."

Sam nodded slowly.

Spike turned away and stared at the computer screen in front of him.

"GPS? Trying to locate his cell phone?" Sam asked, looking at the monitor, too.

Spike shook his head. "I need open space to use the GPS module; it's not reliable indoors, and in the basement, under tons of concrete it won't work at all," he said, not taking his eyes off the screen. "I've tried to use TOA and OTD but-"

"Hold on! TOA ...?" Sam interrupted him.

Spike frowned, but began to explain. "TOA, Time of Arrival. I can measure and compare the time intervals of the signal from the mobile phone to several base stations in this area. Then, from the difference between the arrival of the time signals, using an algorithmic trilateration I can calculate the location the transmitter of his cell phone," he said quickly, a little irritatedly as if he was being forced to explain multiplication tables to Sam.

"Trilateration... Yeah... I got it," Sam muttered, "And the second option?"

"Observed Time Difference. I could measure the time intervals between a number of different base stations to his cell phone and determine a hyperbolic locus from each. The intersection of the several loci gives an approximate location of the mobile. And then I could calculate the approximate position. But…" Spike sighed.

"But what?" Sam asked.

"But we don't know if Ed's cell has been destroyed," Spike's face twitched as if from sudden pain, "And the main problem is that the damn mobile communications in this area are still locked!" Spike's voice tightened. After a short pause, he added quietly, "If we knew where Ed was at the moment of the explosion, Sam… Maybe if he had had time get farther away from the parking, to an area of the basement that hasn't been totally destroyed, it might give us a chance…" he did not finish.

"There's still hope, right?" Sam asked directly.

Spike shot Sam a piercing gaze but said nothing. Then he turned back to the monitors.

Sam sighed, pulled up a small chair and sat down next to Spike. "Why aren't they turning the communications back on?"

Spike laughed bitterly. "Protocol! Because there is still a bomb in the building. That first one that I defused. Until the military explosives experts inspect the bomb, they will not re-enable mobile communications."

"Wait, there was only an electronic detonator! Not radio! Bomb defused!" Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes, I know! But they have protocols which they must follow!" Spike clenched his fists, "They say that they are obliged to eliminate all risks."

"Good. Then let's they get into the building and will be convinced that the bomb has been defused," Sam said abruptly.

Spike scornfully laughed. "The bomb squad can't start work because the building has to be checked by the military engineers first. They suspect that the explosion caused damage to the left wing of the building, too. They want to make sure that it is safe to remove the explosives from there. But the engineers can't enter the building and begin work until the fire department has finished their work!" he said, exasperated. "Only after the firefighters, the engineers, and the bomb squad have finished will they re-enable mobile communications. And only THEN the rescuers can begin to look for him..." his words choked off and he closed his eyes tight.

"That could take hours ..." Sam said, looking at his teammate.

Spike nodded, slouching tiredly in the chair. The anger fell away from his face. Now he was sitting with his head down, his shoulders drooping, looking strangely lonely and lost. It was so unlike the vigorous, optimistic, enterprising man he always was.

"They are all so sure that Ed is dead, Sam," he said quietly.

"But you're still hoping ..." Sam muttered, not as a question but as a statement now.

"I was trying to determine his location," Spike sighed. "To help the search..." he added. "But even when the communications are back up it would not give much. Positioning not through GPS is only an approximation. Too big a deviation... it could give us zilch."

"But there is still a chance that it will help, Spike. If we will know that he was away from the parking lot, away from the main zone of destruction, it will give us ..." he broke off.

"Hope. You are hoping, too, Sam. I know," Spike said softly. He turned to Sam and Sam could see the bottomless anguish in Spike's dark eyes. "Sam. I can't..." he shook his head, "I just can't give up. I know that if I or someone else from the team was there under the rubble... Ed ... he would never give up. He would insist on searching. He would have forced the firefighters and the military to let him in right now. He would take apart the ruins with his bare hands until he got to us. "

Sam was not surprised to see tears in his friend's eyes.

"Sam," Spike blinked and furiously wiped the tears from his dirty face. "Ed has always supported us, always helped us, at any time! But where were we all, when Ed needed our help? We all saw that something was happening to him lately, but did we help him? No ... We decided that he is strong and could cope with his problems alone. We just left him alone. And now... why are we waiting while he is probably down there, in pain, trapped and isolated and bleeding? Why have we abandoned him so easily and so quickly? Tell me, Sam? How are we going to live with ourselves when the rescuers finally find his body and tell us that he had been alive for hours? And no one had come to help him because we had all waited too long? Because we had all followed the damn protocols!" he said, his face set with grim determination.

Sam was silent. His military training asserted itself. All his life he had been a soldier and followed orders, adhered to protocols, rules were clear and understandable for him. But Spike was right, even though the soldier inside him resisted. He nodded emphatically. To hell with the protocols.

"Well, Spike, what should we do?"

"Not to give up," Spike said firmly.

###

The next time he woke, the confused, fuzzy feeling had lessened considerably. He gave his body a mental check. His head was still killing him; persistent nausea continued to torment him but the pain in his right leg had almost ceased. _Correction, I could not feel my leg at all. Correction again, not one leg but both legs._ Yes, it felt like everything below the knees had gone completely numb. God, he must free his legs from under the rubble before it was too late or he was going to lose them.

_Time?_

He lifted his hand and pressed the back-light button. Only 15 minutes had passed since his last conscious period. And he was sure that he could feel his leg at that moment. _Or legs?_ It didn't matter. The main thing was that it wasn't too late to try to do something.

He gave himself a mental shake. _Come on, Lane. Get a grip. Yes, you are wounded and weak. You are hurt, but you are not going just lie back and die. Fight._

God, how terribly thirsty he felt. _How much blood I've lost?_ he wondered. He raised his hand and touched his head again, carefully checking the injured area. He could feel a big lump and the edges of the wound, which ran from his forehead to his left temple. Obviously, something had fallen on his head. Fortunately, it was the glancing blow, not with full force. He looked at his hand. His fingers came back red, smeared with fresh blood meaning that the wound was deep and still bleeding. He needed to try and stop it. But that could wait till later.

His legs first.

_Light._ He needed more light.

He lowered his hand and, pushing aside a few small pieces of debris, he reached for his hip holster. He pulled out the Glock and turned on the powerful tactical under-barrel flashlight. Dazzling white light filled the space around him. Instantly, he squeezed his eyes shut, shocked by its intensity. He groaned. Glaring light and a head injury, not a good combination. Always leads to... He tried to control his breathing, swallowing against the rising nausea. The smell of smoke and dust, still hanging in the air weren't helping and finally he vomited. He barely had time to tilt his head to one side.

Exhausted, he lay for a few minutes without moving. Head trauma, memory loss, loss of consciousness, a killer headache, and nausea ... It wasn't necessary to be an expert to identify a concussion. _Severe concussion…_ He could only hope that there would not be anything worse. That there wouldn't be any bad bruising or bleeding inside his brain. That there wouldn't be any long-term effects and complications.

_God. I'm so optimistic, if I'm worrying about long-term effects now. How about worrying about survival at this point, ah? Let's think about brain damage after you get out of here, okay?_

Yet, the memory loss frightened him. Brain damage... It was scary to even think about it.

"Stop. You've got a hard head, Lane. You'll be fine. Don't give up," he whispered weakly to himself.

He turned away from the stinky mess near his face. No big deal. His legs, that's what should worry him now. He sighed, opened his eyes and raised his head slightly.

In the brightness of the flashlight he could see now the whole extent of the devastation around him.

The place where he lay seemed like some sort of basement. _Correction, a former basement now._ Gray cement floor, broken concrete and bricks, bent crumpled pipes and ripped wires, hanging from the top. He wondered if the wires were still live. Nothing could be ruled out. Although he could not see any sparks, he was glad that there were no wires close to him.

He was not far from one of the walls, almost in the corner which is what had saved him. The center was almost completely littered with large chunks of concrete from the ceiling.

This part of the room had been relatively undamaged. Two of the four walls were still standing upright and the angle, where Ed was still had the part of the ceiling above and it was almost free from larger pieces of debris. He directed the light where he supposed the door would be but the other side of the ceiling had collapsed completely and the flashlight only showed a wall of debris.

Once more he directed the flashlight at the mount of debris that covered his legs. They were not large pieces, in his opinion. He could try to remove them and try to wiggle his legs free. The only problem was that on the top of this pile of rubble lay a large ceiling slab which was obviously the main source of the pressure.

Ed dropped his head back as the dizziness and weakness increased. _He so__ badly wanted a drink ... _The sour taste of vomit still remained in his mouth. _Stop, don't think about water, you know that you do not have any._

He had to find the strength and somehow try to remove at least some of the wreckage enough to allow him to get his feet free. Or at least try to ease the pressure and to restore circulation. He didn't dare think would happen if that slab moved as a result his actions, and would crush his legs completely. Though, it wouldn't make a difference soon. If he didn't release his feet within the hour, as after that it would be too late. If the blood circulation in the limb won't restored by that time, the tissue would die, necrotic and it would be only amputation, then_. If I have this "then", of course..._

_No. Don't you dare think about it. Fight. __Don't__ give up._

_Yes, fight. He will fight__._ Right now, he needed to rest He closed his eyes wearily, starting to drift back into the dark sluggish drowsiness...

The rustling beside him made itself known again, louder this time. Startled, he opened his eyes. Something ... No, someone moved next to him, among the debris. A sudden hope burned within him. One of his team was there, next to him! Alive!

Despite the pain and weakness he levered himself onto his right elbow, lighting the area from which the sound came.

"Guys? Team One?" he croaked.

There was a long silence.

Then, the rustling repeated, now clearly shifting to the side. Someone moved around him without approaching. Fear washed over him. No, he was not afraid of non-material disembodied beings. The creatures he feared that it might be, was quite material.

_Rats?! Oh damn, don't let it be rats! _ He was helpless, pinned down, weakened by pain and injuries, bleeding, occasionally losing consciousness. Dying from wounds, from bleeding and dehydration, from being crushed no longer seemed such a bad choice. Compared with being eaten alive, of course. He tightened his grip on his Glock. Adrenaline was raging in his blood.

_How the hell could be rats in a Toronto city center hotel?_

He frowned, puzzled. _Stop. Hotel?!_ _Why a hotel? W_hat made him think that these ruins are in the center of Toronto? They could have been called somewhere in the suburbs where there are lots of old abandoned buildings where rats would be quite at home... And yet, somehow he knew that this was not the suburbs. Somehow he knew that this was a hotel in Toronto's city center. For a moment, he forgot about the rats. His memory had obviously started to come back and he desperately tried to remember something else. But nothing more came.

The rustling continued, closer now. With effort, he raised himself on his elbow again, and with a trembling hand, aimed his Glock towards the sound. His finger tightened on the trigger...

"Meow."

The sound was so unexpected that he almost dropped the gun. Immediately, he took his finger off the trigger.

"Damn!" he whispered and fell back, smiling involuntarily from the incredible relief. _Not rats! Just a miserable cat! How did it survive in here? _Well, he had never liked cats but now he was almost happy to hear this quiet meow.

"Hey? Kitty?" Again he sent a ray of light in the direction of the sound.

A little black and white furry face appeared from under one of the plates. Not a cat. A scrawny, puny little thing, technically still a kitten. The tiny creature squinted in the bright light. Ed put the Glock on the ground, turning the flashlight to one side. He put out his hand to the kitten and it slowly approached. Before reaching his hands, it stopped and sniffed cautiously. Suddenly, he arched its back and retreated again, obviously frightened. Ed looked at his palm, smeared with his blood.

"Yeah ..." he whispered. "I understand. Sorry. You know, I'd really like to wash my hands," he chuckled weakly.

Suddenly, a new vague image popped into his mind_. _

_He's standing leaning against a wall in some dark corridor looking at his hands. They are red but it's not blood. It's the emergency lighting. Red light._ He squeezed his eyes shut, gently pushing his memory on. Together with the image came the memory of certain sensations. _Fear. Lack of time. The need to go somewhere, the need to run. He had to find something as quickly as possible. Find what? Maybe the bomb? Or find someone? Who?_ _He was alone in that corridor. Was he was looking for someone from his team?_ _Come on ..._ He frowned, remembering. _Why was it so hard to think? _But no matter how he tried, there was nothing more.

The kitten sat on the ground, without approaching.

Ed focused on his goal again.

He had to attempt to free his legs. With a groan, he pushed off with his arms and managed to get himself into a seated position. Leaning on one hand, he brought the other up, pressing the palm to his eyes in a desperate attempt to appease the increased throbbing in his skull. Finally, he managed it and opened his eyes. He looked in the kitten's direction. It was still sitting close by.

"Got any Tylenol? Morphine? Anything?" He asked in a weak hoarse voice." I think I could use some right now ..." he chuckled and coughed, clearing his throat from dust.

The kitten pricked its ears, turned around and quickly disappeared into the darkness between the rubble.

"Hey, kitty? Did I scare you? I didn't mean ... "Ed whispered. With sluggish surprise he noticed that he was disappointed that the kitten had left and he was all alone again.

He closed his eyes, gathering his strength. All he wanted to do was lie back, close his eyes and allow himself to lay still for a while. But he forbade himself to even think about giving in. Instead, he reached out and with a huge effort pulled the first of the many chunks of debris that covered his legs. He tossed it aside and took the next fragment...

tbc


End file.
